


Draco Malfoy and the Year When Everyone Suddenly Paid Attention to Him

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: Do It All Over Again [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dates Labelled as Dates, Dates Not Labelled as Dates, First Kisses, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, Series Retold, Time Travel, Use of Unforgivable Curses, boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-07-21 08:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: By the start of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco had sort of gotten used to slipping under the radar of his fellow students. It was a natural side-effect of being a member of the closest circle of The Boy Who Lived, newly dubbed The Chosen One. So it was a bit of an understatement to say that he was surprised to have eyes followinghimdown the corridors now, especially when one of those pairs was familiar and piercingly green.





	1. Life as a Black

**Author's Note:**

> My dear, dear readers,
> 
> we are back for the sixth installment, and I hope you know how excited I am to finally share this with you. The sixth installment is where a lot of the emotions that have been building up in the prior installments culminate, and I have been dying to write it from the starts and now I am so thrilled to share it with you. There's lots to look forward to in this part of the story, I think / hope. Apart from the obvious romantic aspects, I finally get to introduce some original characters, which I have been dying to do from the start.
> 
> But enough talk now. I'll cut it short here before I give something away in my excitement lol. I want to thank you all once again for the overwhelming support you've been giving me especially towards the end of the last installment. Your comments mean the world to me and have been healing in a way you cannot even begin to comprehend. Real-life has been beating me down, but you have been giving me strength and self-worth. I can't thank you enough. 
> 
> Now, before we start, I have to warn you that from late August to October, there might be some irregularities in my posting schedule. I took on a job training on the weekend which will have me do 7-day-weeks and won't allow me to post anything on some weeks, and it falls on at least one posting date, as far as I can oversee it now, so it will have to be delayed. I will address it more specifically when the time comes, though. The next update should be on time. 
> 
> Now, please enjoy the first chapter!!

It took Draco surprisingly little time to get used to his new life outside of the Manor. His aunt Andromeda was a charming woman, formidable in a way that his mother shared as well as fond in ways that kept surprising Draco. For example, steaming cups of tea or, if the weather was too stifling, chilled water or juice, kept appearing from thin air at his side, even without the support of house-elves, and there was never a lack of cake around the house, either. Ted, Andromeda’s husband, a muggle-born wizard and the reason she had broken with her family in the first place, was open-hearted and charming, and Draco found himself sitting in the garden lounge chairs one evening too many, chatting away with him about insignificant things. 

Dora, their daughter, was a bit of a conundrum. She seemed to have inherited her father’s humour and there were moments when she would stand with them in the kitchen, chatting and laughing, but then, a shadow would suddenly fall over her face, and she would withdraw herself and become taciturn and uncommunicative. Draco first wondered if it was because she had a problem with Draco and his mother sharing their living space - and he would not begrudge her the sentiment, seeing who his father was - but Andromeda ensured him it had nothing to do with them.

“She’s having a bit of a rough time of it,” she sighed. “Sirius’ death… It hasn’t been easy…”

And ever since, Draco had given her as much space as possible, in their cramped living arrangements. The Tonkses lived a simple life, compared to the Malfoys, and though Draco and his mother each had a small guest room for themselves, it contained no more than a bed, a small side table and enough space to cram in a medium-sized trunk. It became slightly claustrophobic if you spent too much time in it, so Draco found himself taking to hanging around all over the house and garden, and surprisingly, he did not mind the company of all the other people living with him too much. At the Manor or at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin quarters, he was used to hiding from everyone, but here, he found himself actively seeking out conversation, and even on a few memorable occasions helping out his aunt in the kitchen. 

Some afternoons, he went to visit the Burrow. The Order had vacated their Headquarters after Sirius’ death - which, now that his mother was an official member, he was allowed to know the location of, and it turned out to be the old Black family home Sirius had grown up in. The problem was that after Sirius’ passing, the ownership had become unclear. Apparently, Sirius had noted down in his will that he wanted to pass all his belongings on to Harry - or at least, that’s what Dora had told him - but they first had to make sure that the will was more effective than the ancient blood-magic that tied the house to the Black family, and had therefore taken all safety precautions necessary.

Therefore, the Weasleys had returned to their own home, and with them, a new and yet familiar face had entered the Burrow: When Draco had first been over to tea with Dora and Fleur Delacour had casually strolled down the stairs and enthusiastically kissed his cheeks, Draco had wondered if Mrs Weasley had accidentally put something into his drink. It turned out, though, that Fleur had passed a summer internship at Gringotts after her graduation at Beauxbatons and had met Bill. They had fallen head over heels for each other and were now engaged to be married.

The women of the family did little to hide their displeasure with Bill’s decision. Ginny was especially vicious when she got onto the subject, ranting and venting away to the point where Draco couldn’t help but resolve into helpless laughter.

“Your tongue is sharper than a Slicing Hex,” he deadpanned. “You’re sure you don’t have a little Slytherin in you?”

“No more than you've got Gryffindor in you,” she shot back, grinning when he made a face. 

Ginny and Draco had, most surprisingly to him, developed an easy friendship over the summer. It seemed to drive Weasley insane, and Ginny didn’t exactly help the matter by mocking her brother about it every chance she got.

“I swear to Merlin, he thinks we’re shagging,” Ginny rolled her eyes, making Draco choke on the lemonade Mrs Weasley had pressed into his hands earlier that day.

“Excuse me?!” he spluttered, outraged.

“I know, right?” she sighed, shaking her head. “I mean, not that I didn’t use to have a crush on you, but you’d think he’d have cottoned onto the fact that you’re queer as a Christmas Tree in all rainbow colours, with fairies sprinkling glitter all over it.” Draco cleared his throat, trying in vain to fight the deep blush that was tinting his fair skin the colour of Gryffindor Quidditch robes, and Ginny snickered. “You didn’t _really_ think I didn’t know, right?” she checked. "I thought I had made myself clear on the Hogwarts Express, dear."

“You really hang out with Luna too much!” he burst out indignantly. “Your brain-to-mouth-filter has diminished to an appalling level, Madam!”

“Sorry, not sorry,” she shrugged. “I spent years of my life biting my tongue and watching the two boys I was crushing on turning gay for each other, so I figured, oh hell. Only one life to live, and all that.”

“We’re not gay for each other!” Draco hissed. “Or well, that is… Harry doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Puh-leaaaase,” Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes. “Harry is slow and ‘Oblivious’ is his bloody middle name, but he’s into you. Everyone can see that! Well, everyone who’s not my git of a brother, that is.”

“You, Ginevra Weasley, have a strange way of viewing the world,” Draco muttered, his voice strained. 

“Will you at least admit it?” Ginny demanded, eyeing him through narrowed eyes. “Out loud, to me? That you’re hopelessly in love with him?”

Draco sighed, meeting her eyes.

“Fine,” he snapped. “So what if I am?!”

“Does Hermione know?” Ginny asked, unimpressed. 

“Yes,” Draco shrugged. “And Viktor. Though no one else does.”

“Incorrect,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Luna and Neville know, even if you never confirmed it to them. They’re not stupid, you know.”

“Funny,” Draco grumbled, rather bitterly. “For the fact that even Hermione had no idea until a couple of months ago, it seems pretty obvious to everyone and their grandparents now.”

“Well,” Ginny shrugged, unconcerned. “We might have had a couple of discussions about you two ever since Cho and Harry broke up. That might have had to do with it.”

“I see,” Draco sighed, resting his chin on his knees and biting his lip. 

Truth be told, he felt uncomfortable with so many people knowing, or even only suspecting his feelings. The more people knew, the bigger the chance was that it all got around to Harry eventually. And no matter what Ginny was saying, Draco still didn’t believe that Harry was anything but straight. 

“Hey,” Ginny said gently, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t fret. I might have been messing with you and Harry on the train to London, but I won’t say a thing if you don’t want me to. And neither will Neville. He’s too polite. Luna… Well, no one can control Luna, but nobody takes her seriously, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Draco frowned. “I know. I just don’t want things to be awkward between us should he realise my feelings for him.”

“Have they been awkward after that convo on the Hogwarts Express?” Ginny asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, no,” Draco admitted, and it was the truth. Harry and he had been writing back and forth like always, using their enchanted parchments for quicker communication. Draco couldn’t really divulge all that much information about his whereabouts (he had been warned by both his mother and Andromeda that, as long as Harry was outside of the Order’s direct reach, it was unwise to tell him his exact location, for their own safety as well as Harry’s), but he tried to make up for it with nonsensical episodes that seemed to be amusing Harry throughout his dull days. 

“See,” Ginny shrugged. “I think you’re worrying too much. As always.”

Draco glared at her. Ginny grinned innocently. 

Other than Bill returning to the Burrow and Fleur moving in, as well as Draco hanging around the house regularly, there had been further changes to the Weasley household. Fred and George had moved out and were now living in an apartment above their new shop at Diagon Alley, which was a booming success. Draco had only seen them around the house once since the summer holidays started, and they’d been basically flashing their new wealth in a way that Draco found incredibly amusing.

Also, Mr Weasley had been promoted to Head of the Office for Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Spells and Protective Objects, a department dedicated to fighting all the fake protection spells offered to terrified witches and wizards in the face of the Dark Lord's return. The family was ecstatic about the news, and Draco was incredibly pleased for them, drawing no little pleasure from the fact that his father would be raging in his Azkaban cell if he knew. 

In the light of the great picture of the Wizarding World, things did not look as rosy, though. Fudge had been relieved from his office, a step long overdue and only taken after the collapse of a Muggle bridge caused by Death Eaters, and he had been succeeded by Rufus Scrimgeour, a former Auror who appeared much more crisis-versed, though that was all Draco knew about him. 

The media had turned from demonising Harry through the last year into completely worshipping him. They kept calling him ‘The Chosen One’, presuming that the prophecy destroyed in the Ministry of Magic would proclaim him as the one to end the Dark Lord once and for all. It made Draco feel squirmy every time he read it.

The Death Eaters had been highly active ever since their failed coup at the Ministry. There were almost daily news of disappearances or murders now, Muggles and wizards alike. Ministry officials like Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance had been found dead. There had been mass killings involving giants. Dementors had completely evaded the control of the Ministry and were now roaming the country, breeding and spreading an unseasonably mist and hopelessness everywhere. 

Sometimes, Draco discussed these events with Harry via their parchments, but mostly, he tried to keep their conversation light, since it seemed that was what Harry needed the most. From what Draco could tell, his friend was not as subdued as he had been directly after the death of his godfather, but he was still struggling and appreciated the distraction, and Draco was glad to give it to him. 

It was on the 12th of July that Hermione arrived at the Burrow. She pulled Draco into a tight hug when he came over to greet her, telling him that she couldn’t stand to be away from all of them for a day longer and that she was glad Draco was so close to them this time around, too. Draco couldn’t help but agree. It felt so different to be in the midst of it and not isolated and alone in the Manor for weeks and weeks.

“I just hope Harry can join us soon,” Draco sighed as he let go of her.

“I’m sure he will,” Hermione bit her lip. “Dumbledore won’t leave him with these horrible Muggles for too long, will he? Especially after what happened at the Ministry.”

It turned out that she was right. When he woke up the next day and entered the kitchen for breakfast, he found Dora chatting with his mother and his aunt, looking bone-dead tired, as if she hadn’t really slept the night. She sent Draco a smile though, saluting him as he took a seat at the table.

“Wotcher, Draco,” she said. “You should drop in at the Burrow later. Harry arrived there tonight.”

Draco froze in his movements of reaching for the teapot, staring at her, aghast. 

“Harry?” he repeated, his hand still hanging uselessly in the air.

“You should have at least let him get some breakfast first, Dora,” Draco’s mother scolded fondly, smiling as she waved her wand to make the pot serve Draco his tea. Draco’s arm dropped back to his side. “He’ll be useless all morning now.”

“I’m sorry?” Dora said, raising her eyebrows and smiling, clearly intrigued. “I did not realise my words would have that kind of impact.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Draco grumbled, reaching for his tea to hide his blush. He had to do something about his behaviour. Teasing about his obsession with Harry was getting far too frequent for his liking. “Thank you, Dora. I’ll visit the Burrow later on.”

“Might as well have a quiet breakfast, though,” Dora assured him. “He came in late, so he’ll probably want to sleep in.”

“Alright,” Draco nodded, reaching for the scrambled eggs and shovelling some onto his plate. “Will do.”

“Oh, there’s the post,” Andromeda said absentmindedly, waving her wand to open the window, and indeed, a flurry of owls filtered into the room to deliver various items. This was nothing unusual: With four fully grown wizards and one teenager living under one roof, there was lots of post delivered each morning, resulting in a mini-spectacle reminiscent of the Great Hall. This morning, there was the usual delivery owl with the _Daily Prophet_ , and an owl each for Dora and Ted to drop off their correspondence, as well as Aquila, who was bringing mail from Bulgaria. Then, there was a fifth owl, and it flew straight to Draco, dropping its letter in front of him, only just missing his eggs.

Draco picked it up curiously, staring.

The letter was addressed to him, and it was sealed by the Ministry, or, to be more exact, by the Wizarding Examination Authority.

“Oh,” Draco muttered, gulping. “That should be my OWLs.”

“Well,” his mother smiled encouragingly. “Don’t keep us waiting, darling. Open them.”

Draco took a deep breath and nodded, breaking the seal and tearing the envelope open. He quickly disregarded the cover letter and skipped right to the results, scanning them with quick eyes.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass Grades: Outstanding (O) Fail Grades: Poor (P)_  
_Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)  
_ _Acceptable (A)_ _Troll (T)_

_DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY HAS ACHIEVED:_

_Ancient Runes:_ _O_

 _Arithmancy:_ _O_

 _Astronomy:_ _E_

 _Care of Magical Creatures:_ _O_

 _Charms:_ _O_

 _Defence Against the Dark Arts:_ _O_

 _Herbology:_ _O_

 _History of Magic:_ _E_

 _Potions:_ _O_

 _Transfigurations:_ _O_

Slowly, a relieved smile spread over Draco's lips, and his heart rate, which we hadn't realised had sped due to nerves, was gradually slowing. He handed the parchment over to his mother, whose eyebrows raised seemingly higher with each mark she read. She shook her head as she was done reading, smiling as she passed the results on to Andromeda. 

"How you got to be so smart I'll never know," she muttered, fond eyes landing on him. "If you add up your father's and my OWL results, you won't have such a good result."

Draco's mouth twitched. 

"I could have done better, though," he told her, trying to keep a straight face. "I was distracted through the practical Astronomy and the History of -"

"Are you sassing your mother?" she cut him off, looking at her sister for confirmation, but Andromeda was just laughing at her. "Salazar beware you have children, 'Dromeda. They only make you feel inadequate."

"They say children are the best version of their parents," Andromeda said, fondly looking at Dora, but grimacing when her daughter chose that moment to change her hair from black to dark green. "Well, most of the time."

Dora turned to glare at her, and Draco grinned, digging into his breakfast. 

When he arrived at the Burrow, everyone was down in the kitchen, sipping tea. OWL results lay abandoned on the table, but Draco paid them no mind, rather turning to grin at Harry, who'd only just taken notice of him. 

"Draco!" he called, eyes wide as saucers as he jumped up to pull him into a tight hug. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?!"

"The others didn't tell you?" Draco asked. "Mother and I are living with my aunt Andromeda now. The Manor wasn't safe anymore, not after Father's imprisonment. Mother joined the Order, too, so we're officially 'in', in all aspects of the word."

"Oh my God," Harry breathed, squeezing him once before letting go, his grin so wide that Draco felt almost blinded by it. "This is brilliant!! I'm so glad you're here!"

"And I can say the same thing about you" Draco chuckled. "Dora said you arrived last night?"

"Dora?" Harry frowned, clearly lost. 

"Tonks," Ginny supplied, grinning. "She's Andromeda's daughter, remember? Draco's refusing to call her 'Tonks', and it's driving her spare."

"I live in a house full of Tonkses," Draco called, exasperated to have to repeat the same argument again and again. "It would be confusing!"

"You call Ron 'Weasley'," Ginny pointed out, grinning. 

"That's different," Draco frowned. "I'm not _living_ with him!"

"Whatever you say," Ginny shrugged, smirking. Weasley was watching them from across the table, eyes narrowed. Harry was observing their exchange, too, he realised, though he seemed more taken aback than suspicious. 

"So," Draco said, changing the subject. "Dumbledore dropped you off?"

"Yup," Harry nodded, catching his gaze, indicating that there was more that needed to be said regarding that subject once they were alone. Draco nodded, indicating he'd understood. 

"Draco," Hermione spoke up. "Did you receive your OWL results this morning?"

"I did," Draco grinned, turning to look at her. He frowned a little as he noted the black eye she spotted, but chose not to comment and instead pushed on: "All 'O' except for Astronomy and History of Magic. You?"

Weasley rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Draco ignored him. 

"That's a wonderful result, Draco!" Mrs Weasley gushed, sending him a huge smile from her place across the kitchen. 

"I've got one 'E'," Hermione admitted, clearly trying her hardest not to sound disappointed. "DADA."

"And you knocked your face into a wall in punishment?" Draco teased, a little relieved when she flushed and just rolled her eyes.

“No,” she rolled her eyes and gestured to her face. “ _That_ was the work of a punching telescope Fred and George left lying around. It won’t come off.”

"I see,” Draco snorted. “Well, congrats on defending your spot as top of the year. I doubt that anyone can beat your score."

Hermione flushed and smiled at him. Draco turned to Harry. 

"How about you?" he asked. 

"Nothing like your results," Harry snorted. "Seven OWLs, flunked History of Magic and Divination. But did fairly well at the rest. Even got an 'O' in DADA," Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly. 

"That's awesome," Draco grinned. "Can you imagine how Umbridge must be fuming?!"

Harry laughed at that, and Draco found himself manhandled into a chair by Mrs Weasley and served tea.

He managed to have a private talk with Harry later that afternoon, after escaping the hordes of Weasleys and withdrawing into a corner of the garden, sprawling out over the sun-warmed grass and looking up at the sky.

“So,” Draco said, turning his head to look at Harry’s profile. “Dumbledore picked you up from the Dursleys’?”

“He did,” Harry nodded, facing him. “Had an… interesting conversation with them. About how much they sucked at caring for me, basically.”

“Well, fucking finally,” Draco groaned, feeling indignant. “Only took him fifteen years.”

Harry chuckled but did not answer.

“So that was the only reason he came?” Draco checked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “He also needed to make sure that I… owned a house-elf.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered, catching on immediately. “Of the Black estate.”

“You know about that?” Harry blinked.

“Mother’s in the Order now, remember?”

“Right. Yes, Sirius left it to me, and Dumbledore said that, if I really am allowed to own it, Kreacher would be obligated to follow my orders.”

“He is quite right, of course,” Draco nodded eagerly. “And did he?”

“He did,” Harry confirmed, looking rather sick at the memory.

“Well, congrats,” Draco snorted. “Your very own house-elf, huh?”

“If I never have to see him again, we’ll both be the happier for it,” Harry hissed, glaring at him half-heartedly. “I can’t set him free because he knows too much about the Order and he’d run right to your aunt Bellatrix with it, but I sent him to work at Hogwarts. He should be well-hidden there.” Draco nodded, not saying anything. “Dumbledore also took me to talk a retired teacher into returning to Hogwarts,” Harry continued, effectively changing the subject. “So, that was weird.”

“Okay,” Draco frowned. “Who was he?”

“His name is Horace Slughorn,” Harry told him. “And I’m not sure I liked him much. He seemed much too fascinated with fame and celebrities. He had this photo collection of students who’d turned out to be successful, or famous for one thing or another. He said my Mum used to be one of his favourites.”

“That sounds dubious indeed,” Draco frowned. “Why did Dumbledore want him back?”

“He did not say,” Harry shrugged. “Just that it was important. Apparently, Voldemort was after him, too.”

“Huh,” Draco frowned. “Did he agree?”

“Reluctantly,” Harry nodded. “But eventually, he did.”

“I guess we’ll have to deal with him from now on, then,” Draco drawled, feeling less than enthused about the idea. He’d really hoped that after Umbridge, Dumbledore would actually present them with a proper teacher. But maybe he was judging too early and, despite Slughorn’s apparent penchant for favouritism, he was actually a decent educator.

“Dumbledore also told me that I’ll have no more Occlumency lessons with Snape this year,” Harry informed Draco, tearing him out of his mulling. “Instead, I will have private lessons with Dumbledore.”

“ _Really?_ ” Draco asked, intrigued. “And what will he be teaching you?” 

“He didn’t say,” Harry muttered, sounding hesitant now. His eyes caught Draco’s, and he could tell that Harry was building up to something big. So Draco held his tongue and waited. “He didn’t say what exactly he would be teaching me,” Harry repeated, taking a deep breath. “But whatever it will be, I think it must be something to help me kill Voldemort.”

Draco stared at him, needing a moment to find his voice.

“And why would he need you to do that,” Draco asked, his voice sounding thin. He thought he knew the answer, but he needed Harry to say it. 

Harry sighed, licking his lip. Draco realised that Harry was scared about telling him, maybe as scared as Draco was about hearing it.

“Because of the prophecy,” Harry said, at last. “The one that got smashed at the Ministry?”

“I thought no one ever got to hear it?” Draco checked.

“Dumbledore was the one it was first made to,” Harry explained. “He showed me his memory, and… it basically says that I have to kill Voldemort, or he has to kill me.”

Draco felt like he was falling, even though he was lying on solid ground. Only when Harry was touching his cheek did he realise that he wasn’t breathing. He inhaled a wheezing breath, and Harry watched him, eyes wide and skin pale as he bit his lip, hovering above him now.

“Damn it, breathe,” he hissed. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you! I knew you’d freak!”

“I thought it was all made up,” Draco muttered, his voice cracking. “I thought the _Prophet_ -”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “They’ve got it right.”

Draco lay there, staring up at him uncomprehendingly. Because this could _not_ be happening. Out of all people in the world, or even of Wizarding Britain, this burden couldn’t be falling on _Harry_. 

“Hey,” Harry murmured, gently drawing Draco’s attention back to him. “It’s going to be alright. This doesn’t change anything.”

“ _How_ does this not change anything?” Draco demanded, his voice high.

“Because we all know he would have come after me, anyway,” Harry shrugged. “He won’t stop until I’m dead. And if we’re honest, neither will I. So one of us will have to die eventually. That’s how it has to end.”

Draco made a noise in the back of his throat, one that sounded very unlike him, and Harry lowered himself so he was lying next to Draco again and pulled him into a tight embrace. They stayed like that for a long time, until Draco had stopped trembling and his throat had stopped burning with every inhale and exhale. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked him eventually, and it made Draco laugh, a little hysterically, and Harry seemed alarmed as he pulled away to scan his face.

“I should be the one asking _you_ that question, you know,” Draco ground out between gasps of bitter laughter. “I should be comforting _you_ , not the other way around!”

“Well,” Harry frowned. “I’ve had a couple of weeks to come to terms with it. But ever since, I’ve been most worried about telling you. Because I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Obviously, your fears were unfounded,” Draco muttered sarcastically. “I’m taking it very gracefully, am I not?” Harry just looked at him, not answering. They were silent for a long moment. “Was it naive of me?” Draco sighed. “To hope that you could get through this war with a minor role? One that would actually be appropriate for your age and experience?” When Harry still didn’t reply, he added, even more quietly, “I just want you to stay unharmed.”

“I know,” Harry whispered. “And I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can to get out of it alive.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” Draco breathed, catching his eyes. “You don’t really think you’ll be alone in this for one second, right?” The expression on Harry’s face told Draco that this was another reason why he had kept silent until now. “You can’t get rid of me now, Potter,” Draco warned. “No matter what happens, I’m with you till the end.”

Harry gulped and turned onto his back, staring up at the sky again. They did not speak for a long time, but eventually, Harry entwined their fingers, and Draco knew they were okay. 


	2. Maneuvering Romances You Don’t Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next chapter! So glad you all enjoyed the first one so much!! So excited to share the second one with you :D
> 
> As announced, this one is on time, but I'm afraid the next update will be a week late. I am working a 7-day week in 2 weeks and will be unable to update on the 24th. The update will, therefore, be delayed to the 31st. I hope you understand. I dearly hope that I'll be able to make the 31st, but in case an update should not be forthcoming, check my twitter account (@IntoBlondPrats) for news - maybe I wasn't feeling well, which is a danger considering all the stress I am facing in the next couple of weeks. I am doing my best, though. After all, your comments do a lot to cheer me up through my exhausting days, so updating is in my own interest ;)
> 
> Now, enough talk. Please enjoy the second chapter and everyone's return to Hogwarts :D

With Harry’s arrival at the Burrow, Draco was a permanent fixture at the house for the rest of the summer holidays. Sure, he slept at Andromeda’s and still spent an appropriate amount of time with his own family, but most afternoons, he was to be found around the Weasleys’ house hanging out with Harry, playing Quidditch with him, Weasley and Ginny or going over some NEWT course material with Hermione. Despite the uneasy political climate, it were the most relaxed summer holidays Draco had ever spent. 

Of course, there were bad days. When they were all gathered for Harry’s birthday, bad news flew in left and right, of new Dementor attacks as well as the discovery of Karkaroff’s dead body. To say it put a downer on the day Mrs Weasley had so carefully planned was an understatement.

Draco also couldn’t quite shake off the idea of the prophecy. It stayed with him constantly, and resurfaced in the most inopportune moments, clawing at his heart in fear and making it hard to breathe for a moment. He did not voice this to Harry, naturally, but he thought that his friend still knew from the way he looked at him every now and again. 

In other news, Draco’s relationship with Weasley was rockier than ever, which would have amused Draco if it wasn’t so bloody annoying. 

“Could you please make it clear to your oaf of a brother that you’re dating Thomas, and not me?!” Draco complained to Ginny as Weasley had stormed off to hang out with Harry in the garden, but not without some thorough hostility into Draco’s direction first. “This is getting ridiculous!”

“I told him!” Ginny called, sounding despaired. “ _ Various times!  _ It’s not my fault if he doesn’t believe me!”

“How did this even start?” Hermione enquired, sounding bewildered. “Does he really think you two can’t be friends without anything happening?”

“Maybe I can’t be friends with  _ any _ boy without anything happening,” Ginny countered, rolling her eyes. “It’s straight-out insulting.”

“Not to mention that he’s insinuating you can’t take care of yourself by being nasty to me,” Draco countered. “Imagine we  _ were _ dating.”

“Right!” Ginny nodded, sounding outraged.

“Well, I’m certainly not surprised that you get along so well,” Hermione snorted, amused at their behaviour. 

“Because we can commiserate about her brother being a git?” Draco deadpanned. “It’s definitely a common interest we share.”

What annoyed Draco most, though, was that Weasley apparently got into  _ Harry’s  _ head, too, about the whole Ginny thing. So when one afternoon, Harry asked Draco in attempted casualness whether Ginny and Draco were dating, Draco snapped.

“For Merlin’s sake!” he groaned. “For the last time, I’m not dating her! Weasley has to get out of his arse about me being friends with his sister and get a life!” Harry just looked at him and bit his lip, seeming not quite sure what to say in response to that, so Draco supplied: “She’s with Dean Thomas, as she informed you all on the Hogwarts Express a couple of weeks ago. Were you obliviated?!”

“No,” Harry frowned, a small smile on his lips. “It’s just… you seem to get along so well, and Ron said… nevermind. If you don’t, it’s all good.”

“Why?” Draco frowned, scanning his face now. “Would it have been a problem, if I  _ had _ been dating Ginny?”

“No!” Harry said, too quickly. “Just saying-”

“You don’t _like_ Ginny, do you?” Draco asked, suspicious and slightly annoyed. “Because she  _ is  _ with Thomas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ron would have my head.”

“So that’s what this is about? Weasleys’ ridiculous sister complex?”

“No, I just - I was just  _ asking _ , Draco! Don’t bite my head off! Blimey!” Harry was grumbling to himself now, and there was a slight flush on his face, so Draco reluctantly let it pass, still frowning. 

As their annual letters from Hogwarts containing their booklists arrived, the envelopes also contained a little surprise for both Draco and Harry: Both of them were named Quidditch captains of their respective house teams, causing them to break out into good-natured banter about who was going to lead their team to win the house championship this time around. 

The arrival of their letters also prompted their families to schedule a trip to Diagon Alley, though, something they had all collectively avoided until that point. The Wizarding Shopping Area had become something like a hot plaster over the summer, seeing that a lot of respectable stores had been pillaged. Both Florean Fortescue and Ollivander were gone and their shops stood abandoned. Especially in the latter case, this was disastrous for the society at large - Ollivander’s was, after all, the most renowned wandmaker in Britain, and wands were a wizard’s basic need, particularly with a war at the horizon.

So they travelled to Diagon Alley in a group and by means of security cars (which they were only able to attain because of Harry’s presence among them). They met up with Hagrid as “additional security detail” at the Leaky Cauldron, and the teenagers all split from the adults to go to Madam Malkin’s for new robes while the adults browsed for their school books at Flourish and Blotts. They caught up with them again when they were done to buy potion ingredients and pet treats before they headed for Fred and George’s shop.

Compared to the rest of Diagon Alley, the twin’s establishment was bursting both with colour and activity. The shop was literally bursting with customers of all ages, and as Draco followed his friends to browse the article’s on display, he was impressed to see that the twins had expanded from their initial joke product line and were now offering quite a broad range of products. 

Ginny and Draco were just hovering over a selection of what appeared to be legitimate Love Potions, wondering how effective they really were, when the developers in questions swooped up behind them, taking the little bottle from their fingers. 

“Of course they work!” Fred told them in mock-offence, as if they had insulted his professional pride. “For up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question -”

“- and the attractiveness of the girl,” completed George, before looking back and forth between them, eyes narrowing. “But we’re not selling them to our sister,” he added sternly, “not when she’s already got about five boys on the go from what we’ve -”

“Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” Ginny said calmly, while Draco tried hard not to implode in exasperation. Ginny, meanwhile, looked at a little pink pot. “What’s this?”

“Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,” said Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently dating that dashing young gentleman next to you?”

“No!” Draco burst out indignantly. “She is  _ not!” _

“There you have it!” Ginny smiled. “I am not. Serves you right for listening to Ron. Now, what are those?” She had turned to look at a shelf of what appeared to be miniature Puffskeins, a smile spreading over her face.

“Pigmy Puffs,” George said. “Can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Dean Thomas?” 

“Him, I am dating. And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five.” Ginny was now poking a finger into the cage to interact with the nearest Puffs. “They’re really cute!”

“They’re fairly cuddly, yes,” conceded Fred. “But what about Michael Corner?”

“I dumped him, he was a bad loser.”

“But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?”

It was all Draco could do not to roll his eyes. Godric and Salazar, he thought it was only Weasley, but apparently, it was the whole sodding family. He felt for poor Ginny. Being a girl in this family must suck.

As if Draco’s sentiments were resonating inside Ginny, she was getting to her feet and facing her brothers, her face so full of anger that it cried murder, and Draco took that as his cue to leave. 

He found Harry, Hermione and Weasley in another corner of the store, Weasley loading his arms with products like a madman, and Draco glared at him.

“Thanks for sicing your brothers on me,” Draco snapped. “When will you get it through your thick skull that I am  _ not _ snogging your sister?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Weasley said, not looking at him, but the red tips of his ears gave him away.

“Yeah, sure,” Draco snorted, turning to Harry. “So, this shop is quite something, huh?”

“It is,” Harry agreed with a smile. “They really pulled something together.”

“I would say it’s especially impressive considering the current climate, but I dare say it might be the political crisis that helped their success,” Draco mused. “After all, people long to laugh, with all the misery around.”

“You might be right with that,” Hermione agreed. “Though really, this is much more than a joke shop. They’ve got so much randomly useful stuff in here… It’s quite impressive.”

“I agree,” Draco nodded. “It might be listed as a joke shop, but it actually resembles a department store on Pepper-Up Potion.”

Harry laughed at that, flashing him a grin, and Draco found his shoulder clasped from behind. 

“I quite like that description,” Fred noted, seeming much more affectionate with Draco now that he had realised that he wasn’t trying to get into his baby sister’s pants. “Cheers, Draco.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco grinned.

“And that’s three Galleons, nine Sickles and a Knut,” he told Weasley, eyeing him suspiciously and stretching out a hand. “Cough up.”

“I’m your brother!” Weasley spluttered, indignant.

“And that’s our stuff you’re nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I’ll knock off the Knut.”

Draco grinned and watched in satisfaction as Weasley argued with his brother, feeling that for the way he'd set him off the be mauled earlier, he deserved no less. 

For the first time since he’d started Hogwarts, Draco wished the summer holidays could have gone on a little longer, but unfortunately, they had to return to Hogwarts eventually. So on September First, they made their way to King’s Cross, separately this time, since Harry and the Weasleys were accompanied by Aurors again and Draco portkeyed with his mother. Harry seemed very harried when Draco finally caught sight of him at the platform, barely on time for the train, and once they had said their goodbyes and jumped on, he was grumpily trying to direct them to an empty compartment, fully forgetting about his friends’ Prefect duties. So when Hermione, Weasley and Draco excused themselves to the Prefect compartment first, his expression was sour, and Draco felt unreasonably guilty. 

They found him later in a compartment with Longbottom and Luna, seeming only slightly mollified by their presence, but they had barely sat down when a third-year girl came sweeping in to hand both Harry and Longbottom a note from none other than the dubious Professor Slughorn, who was asking them to meet him in his compartment for lunch.

It was Draco’s turn to be in a sour mood after the two of them had clambered off. The thought that some weird teacher would be trying to smarm around Harry all year made him feel itchy. Dumbledore had wanted Slughorn around so most probably, he could be trusted, but that did not mean Draco had to like people syphoning off Harry’s attention because of his fame. 

Draco’s little sulk (only occasionally interrupted by Luna trying to clean his aura from Wrackspurts) came to an abrupt halt when Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stepped into the compartment, taking Harry and Longbottom’s empty seats. Which was a really odd thing to happen and caused the rest of them to exchange curious glances. Because yes, Brown and Patil had been members of the DA, so they were not in enemy territory, but they were not exactly friends, either. But then, Brown turned to Weasley, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide as she asked how his holidays had been and Draco thought:  _ Oh. That’s how it is. _

Draco was unable to observe Weasley’s reaction, though he would have really loved to see it for it was sure to be legendary, because at that moment, Patil turned upon him, a bright smile on her lips, and Draco froze.

“Draco,” she said. “It’s good to see you again. I hope things have been all right for you at home? I have been worried, after what happened this summer, with your father.”

“Uh,” Draco said, rather eloquently. Words were difficult to come by as Patil kept staring at him, dark eyes focused entirely on him. “It was okay?”

“I’m glad,” she said, and then, she reached out from where she was seated across from him, finding his knee. Draco stiffened. “It must have been tough.”

Draco did not answer. He wondered if he could move his knee away without seeming overly rude. Then again, Patil was the one suddenly crossing personal boundaries, wasn’t she?

And  _ that _ was the moment the door opened again, and Harry and Longbottom returned.

Draco twitched, his knee jerking sideways and making Patil’s hand fall away from it, but the damage was done - Harry had obviously seen it resting there, and he had frozen in his movements, eyes glued to where the connection between them had been. Suddenly, Draco felt extremely embarrassed and even guilty, like he’d been caught doing something forbidden, which was rather ridiculous. 

Harry was still staring.

“Harry, Neville,” Luna greeted them cheerfully, “how was your -”

“Parvati,” Harry cut her off, his voice ice, and Draco’s eyes widened at the tone. “You’re in my seat.”

“Oh, am I?” she giggled, getting to her feet. “Sorry about that. I was just having a chat with Draco.”

She tapped Brown, who followed her friend reluctantly, seeming unwilling to pull herself away from Weasley. Only when they were gone did Harry fall into the seat Patil had abandoned, jaw tight, obviously in a spectacularly bad mood. 

A tensed silence followed the departure of the two girls, and it took Draco a moment to realise that Hermione, too, was looking out of the window, distinctively unhappy. 

“So,” Luna offered, seemingly immune to the rigidity around her. “Exploding Snap?”

Only after a few games did Harry relax a little - enough, at least, to moodily bitch about their new teacher’s favouritism and all the snobby rich kids he’d invited into the compartment to network with.

“It was horrible,” he shuddered. “I’ll never go again.”

“Probably better,” Draco agreed, a little relieved at Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. “Who knows what motives he might have. Better to stay as far away as possible.”

Harry only hummed, not meeting his eyes. Draco frowned, a little thrown by the silent treatment, and more than relieved when they got off the train at Hogsmeade, just to get a breather from Harry’s horrible mood. 

The Slytherin table, Draco noted, was more subdued than it had ever been before. Instead of sharing space in large, obnoxious clutters, the way they usually did upon returning from months apart, they sat in small, separate groups that kept their distance from each other and their heads down. Conversations were held in hushed voices and suspicious eyes wandered occasionally. Draco took a seat near Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini and observed his housemates, wondering how many of their parents were directly or indirectly involved with the Dark Lord, and how many of them were sitting at this table like he did, discussing the exact same question.

When Dumbledore got to his feet after dinner to give his speech, it felt like hours had passed. Time seemed to be running extra slow tonight, and Draco wished the Headmaster would just hurry up and send them off to bed already so he could just put an end to this bloody awkward day. 

But then hushed murmurs ran through the hall, and Draco looked up to determine the cause of it. His eyes quickly landed on Dumbledore’s blackened hand, which he had raised in a gesture of welcome as he had started his speech. Draco frowned, looking over at the Gryffindor table for clues, but Harry was whispering to Hermione and Weasley, not glancing in his direction.

“Nothing to worry about,” Dumbledore said casually, noticing the disruption the sight of his injury had caused. “Now… to our new students, welcome; to our old students, welcome back!” 

As he launched into his usual speech, Draco frowned at their Headmaster, observing his hand. It looked like he had been hit by some sort of curse. Draco had done enough reading to recognise the signs Dark Magic could leave, and this did not look as harmless as Dumbledore was trying to make it seem. He could just hope that the Headmaster had found some way to contain whatever he had been hit with and was now working on breaking it. 

“... and Mr Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

Draco, despite himself, had to bite down on a smile as he tuned back into the speech and glanced at Filch standing near the entrance door with Mrs Norris in his arms, looking grim. As if he’d manage to keep Fred & George’s products out of Hogwarts. That was a fight he’d lost before he’d even begun it.

“Those wishing to play for their house Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn,” a chubby, bald old man got to his feet at the staff table, smiling into the round, “is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post as Potions master.”

Draco’s mouth dropped as he stared. Various students voiced his incredulity.

“Potions?”

“ _ Potions? _ ”

“Professor Snape, meanwhile,” the Headmaster continued, raising his voice to be heard above the uproar among the students, “will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“No!” Draco could hear a loud exclaim from the Gryffindor table, and he would have put down a lot of Galleons that it had come from Harry. Draco could not exactly blame him. DADA was Harry’s best subject by far, and with Snape teaching it, it would become his personal nightmare. 

The students broke into discussions because it had been an open secret that Snape had been angling for the job as DADA teacher for years, but Dumbledore had never seen it fit to appoint him. Now, this had obviously changed. Draco wondered what had been the motivating factor in this decision.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and slowly, the voices died down. Only when everyone was silent and the complete attention had returned to the Headmaster did Dumbledore continue speaking.

“Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining strength.” Draco’s heart hammered in his chest as he chanced a glance down the table at where he knew Nott was seated, flanked by his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle. He was staring blankly into space, his face grave. “I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is,” Dumbledore continued, “and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them - in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours.” At that, Draco flashed a glance over at the Gryffindor table, towards Harry, who was a likely candidate to break that particular rule. “I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of the staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and each other’s safety.”

Dumbledore took a moment to let his words sink in and his eyes trace the faces of the students seated across the Hall, before he concluded his speech with: “But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us, therefore, say goodnight. Pip pip!”

The students started to get to their feet and began filing out of the Hall, their conversations subdued. Draco hurried to get through the crowds to fulfil his duty as Prefect, and when he finally arrived at his dormitory about half an hour later, all his roommates were already present, lounging on their beds.

Draco braced himself for Nott to pick a fight - after all, they had not parted on good terms last term, with Nott’s father having gone to Azkaban along with his, and the summer holidays must have done nothing to assuage his temper - but, much to his surprise, Nott merely threw him a seething glare and returned to the book he was reading, not paying him any more mind. To be honest, Draco was relieved. He had better things to do than deal with Nott’s temper tantrums this school year.

So Draco quickly changed into his pyjamas before reaching for his enchanted parchment - which had already turned golden in notification of a message - and unrolled it. 

_ Bloody Snape _ , it read, in Harry’s messy scrawl, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

_ So you had no clue he was supposed to teach Potions?,  _ he replied.

_ No!,  _ came the immediate answer.  _ I thought he was going to take the DADA position, obviously. I cannot believe Dumbledore did this! _

_ Well, it’s going to be an interesting year, to put it mildly. _

_ It’s going to be hell. DADA is going to be HELL. Snape is going to make my life miserable. _

_ You just mustn’t let him, Harry. Don’t give him an opportunity to show you up. You're a star in DADA. Show a solid performance with your knowledge and there’s nothing Snape can do. _

_ You know Snape. He’ll find a way to make me look like a bloody idiot. _

Secretly, Draco knew he was right, but saying so would have been incredibly tactless. So instead, he wrote:  _ This might be a good thing. With a decent teacher, you might do well in Potions, for a change, and he can’t mess up your performance in DADA so much that you fail. It’s a win-win, if you ask me. _

_ If you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s not working. _

_ Well, it was worth the attempt… So, what happened to Dumbledore’s hand? _

_ I have no idea. He didn’t tell me when I asked him this summer. It looks dead, doesn’t it? _

_ It was hit with a curse of some sort, I think. I wonder what happened… _

_ Me too…  _ There was a pause, and then Harry added, apropos nothing:  _ How has Nott been? Is he giving you a hard time? _

_ He’s quiet,  _ Draco told him truthfully.  _ Very subdued.  _

_ Well, good. He’d better not touch you.  _ Draco smiled at the protective fierceness in Harry’s words, but before he could answer, Harry followed them up with:  _ I’ll kick it, I’m beat. See you tomorrow. Goodnight. _

_ Goodnight,  _ Draco answered.  _ Sleep well. _

_ You too. _

Draco allowed himself a couple of moments to longingly stare at the words, feeling them like a caress, before rolling up the parchment and putting them away carefully. Then, he tucked himself in and closed the curtains, falling quickly into an easy sleep.


	3. Information is Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I'm back with the new chapter after my first longer break! Thank you for your patience and all your kind words of support! My last week was pretty hellish, but thankfully I have a weekend to relax now. The next update should be up on time in 2 weeks, which means either the 14th or the 15th of September. If I don't make it on Saturday, please don't blame me. I am working the 12 days beforehand without a break. 
> 
> Now, please enjoy the next chapter. You'll get more of Harry struggling with E M O T I O N S (!?!?!?!) and Draco and Co making it through their first week back at Hogwarts :D

The next morning, Harry tried to call Draco over to Gryffindor table for breakfast, but Draco had to regretfully drop over to his own house table to retrieve his time table. He cut the line, though, purposefully placing himself in Snape’s range of movement, and when his Head of House turned to him, he narrowed his eyes and regarded him with thinly veiled suspicion.

“How nice of you to drop in with your own house, Mr Malfoy,” his teacher sniped, looking at him expectantly. “Now, pray tell, what N.E.W.T. courses would you like to sign up for?”

“Seven in total,” Draco told him, eager to get this over as with as quickly and efficiently as possible. “Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, Transfigurations.” 

Snape nodded, pursing his lips and brandishing his wand at his notes. Then, he handed Draco a parchment with his fully filled time table. 

“There you go,” he quipped with a sour look. “Go run to the Gryffindor table.”

Draco tried hard not to flush (unsuccessfully) and fled.

He took the seat opposite Harry, where his friends were already scanning their own timetables. 

“Draco,” Hermione smiled, leaning into him to peek at his schedule. “Oh, we have the exact same classes! This is wonderful!”

“Thank Merlin!” Draco agreed wholeheartedly. “One year that I don’t have to cower in corners and stay clear from everyone. What about you?” he asked, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Which classes did you take up?”

“Charms, DADA, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration,” Harry recited. 

“Well, we’ll have all these together, too,” Draco grinned. “Cheers!”

Harry smirked back, seeming as delighted by the prospect as he was.

“There are also so many free periods!” Weasley grinned. “We’re starting off with one right now!” 

“Well, speak for yourself,” Draco snorted. “I think I have one tucked away somewhere, but other than that, I think Hermione and I are pretty booked.”

“Also, you’re supposed to use these free periods to study, Ron,” Hermione reminded him sternly. “NEWTs will be coming up soon -”

“Not until the end of seventh year!” Weasley protested hotly. “We  _ just _ finished our OWLs!”

“Still, that doesn’t mean our workload is going to lessen! We’re advanced students now, after all.”

Weasley looked like she’d just told him Christmas had been cancelled. His expression didn’t hold, though, because at that moment, Brown and Patil chose to pass behind him, and Brown lay a hand on his shoulder and greet him with a giggly: “Hello, Ron!”

Aghast, Weasley turned to gape at her, bringing out a stilted: “Uh, hullo?”

Brown blushed, and another rush of giggles followed. Draco raised his eyebrows at the performance, but then his eyes fell on Patil next to her, who was, not so subtly, trying to catch his eyes. 

“Hi, Draco,” she smiled, waving at him, and Draco went some weird shade of purple.

Ugh. Please. No.

Unable to summon words, he just nodded, watching apprehensively as the girls continued on to the Entrance Hall, heads put together and whispering. Weasley looked after them, still flabbergasted though, unlike Draco, quite self-satisfied.

Harry, on the other hand, was maltreating one of his leftover sausages, spearing it over and over again with his fork, but showing no inclination to actually eating it. His face was murderous. Hermione, too, looked far from pleased. She was folding her timetable into a neat square, the edges sharp enough to cut someone’s throat.

“I think it’s time for our Ancient Runes lesson,” she announced, after a couple of moments of tense silence. “Let’s go, Draco.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Let’s.”

Hermione hadn’t been wrong with the amount of work that awaited them this school year. Ancient Runes left him and Hermione with tons of homework, and Draco doubted that they would fare any better in their second lesson of the day, which was Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape. 

Homework was the least of Draco’s worries, though, as they met Harry and Weasley in the corridor in front of Snape’s new classroom, his friend’s jaw set in apparent tension. Harry’s hatred for Snape, if anything, had intensified since the death of his godfather, and Draco couldn’t help but feel that having the man teach his favourite subject was going to end in a complete disaster. Draco still didn’t know how exactly their Occlumency lessons last term had come to such an abrupt stop - Harry refused to fill him in on the details - though he couldn’t help but think that something big had happened, and whatever it was, it was going to influence their teacher-student-relationship this school year to a great extent. 

As it turned out, his fears were not completely unfounded. Snape had assigned them with practising non-verbal spells and naturally made an example of a struggling Harry, which had ended in him mouthing off and detention on Saturday night. Draco was rubbing his temples as he left the class to Hermione chastising him for his lack of control, Weasley’s laughter for Harry’s cheek and Harry’s outrage at Snape’s behaviour. 

“What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defence?” Harry ranted. “Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that  _ unfixed, indestructible _ stuff -”

“Well,” Hermione interrupted him, raising an eyebrow. “I thought he sounded a bit like you.”

“Like  _ me? _ ” Harry spluttered, indignant.

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorising spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Harry was staring at her, red-faced and speechless, as if he wasn’t sure whether to shout or not. Draco heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head.

“Listen, we know you dislike Snape,” he said tiredly. “We know he’s unfair to you, and I hate to see him treating you the way he does, too. But you make it too easy on him. If you keep mouthing off like that, you make yourself vulnerable. Believe me, you don’t want to spend the school year in detention with him.”

Before Harry could answer to that, one of the former Gryffindor beaters called out for him, effectively ending their discussion by handing him a message from Dumbledore with the time and date of their first private lesson (which was, most conveniently, within the time frame of Snape’s detention). So instead of talking in circles about Snape, they held a discourse over what Dumbledore would be teaching Harry throughout lunch at the Gryffindor table, which Draco considered a far safer subject indeed. 

After lunch, they all had double Potions together. Draco had been wary of that particular class, seeing that what he had heard of Slughorn until now was less than favourable, and when they entered the classroom, his suspicions were pretty much confirmed. Slughorn greeted Harry like an old friend, seeming incredibly pleased to find him in his class, and poured, if not an equal measure of enthusiasm, at least a considerable amount of it into greeting Zabini, whose mother was well connected through her various marriages, but pretty much ignored everyone else. He pointedly did not look at Draco, which he found very telling. Only months ago, Slughorn would surely have fawned over him for being his father’s son. 

Despite his favouritism, though, Slughorn seemed to be a competent teacher, much more so than Snape, if Draco were to say so. He started the lesson off by introducing them to four potions he had displayed at the front, asking them to identify them: Veritaserum, Polyjuice Potion, Amortentia and Felix Felicis. Draco left it to an overzealous Hermione to answer Slughorn’s questions, earning Gryffindor house points and herself the teacher’s sympathy, allowing himself to get distracted by the scent of the love potion instead, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. 

He was unsurprised by the aromas he smelled, having pondered the matter before when he had come across the potion’s mention in his theoretical studies and finding that he had been mostly right: He could catch a whiff of fresh air, the kind he could only taste when he was high up in the air on a broom, as well as the scent of old books which he associated with the Manor’s library. Both were overpowered, though, by the odour that made up Harry, as if someone had melted the boy up into liquid form and added him to the potion as an ingredient.

“It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us,” Hermione was babbling away to the class excitedly, “and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -”

Draco grinned and opened his eyes, turning his head to exchange a taunting look with Hermione, but was sidetrack when he found Harry staring at him, gaze intense and unreadable. The smirk fell off Draco’s face, and he raised his eyebrows at Harry in question. Harry flushed and quickly shook his head, averting his eyes to stare straight ahead. Draco frowned, redirecting his gaze to the front of the class as well, unsure what had just transpired. 

“And now,” Slughorn said, after he was done discussing the dangers of Amortentia with some of the students, “it is time for us to start work.”

“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in this one,” said Ernie Macmillan, pointing to the smallest cauldron containing the Felix Felicis. 

“Oho,” Slughorn said, rather dramatically. “Yes. That. Well,  _ that _ one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis.” Hermione gasped, and Draco was a little surprised she only recognized the potion now - the colour was rather telling, in his opinion - but Slughorn smiled happily, turning to her and prompting: “I take it that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”

He could hear frustrated whispers from a couple of Ravenclaw girls in the back, and Draco couldn’t really blame them. He knew Hermione was making a spectacle of herself, and Slughorn was eating it up. If she wasn’t basically his best friend, he’d be annoyed, too.

“It’s liquid luck,” Hermione called, unperturbed. “It makes you lucky!”

Draco noted, out of the corner of his eye, that Nott seemed to perk up at her words, now finally paying full attention to Slughorn as he recited the aspects of Felix Felicis when before, he had seemed completely disinterested. 

“And that,” Slughorn concluded his little lesson on the luck potion, drawing Draco from his thoughts and his eyes away from Nott, “is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.” He took one miniature corked bottle of the golden potion out of his pocket and held it up in the air for everyone to see. Draco raised his eyebrows. “One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis. Enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.” The whole class was hanging on his lips now, and Draco was a little baffled that a teacher would give out a restricted potion like that into the hands of an underage student, no matter how talented. Even as Slughorn continued to warn them about the regulations of the potion’s usage (banned throughout competitions of all sorts, as well as examinations or elections), Draco did wonder if it would not end up being misused. He eyed Nott’s eager expression once more, determined to make sure it would not end up in  _ his _ hands.

“So,” Slughorn announced briskly. “how are you going to win this prize? Well, by turning to page ten of  _ Advanced Potion-Making _ . We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!”

And with that, they scrambled towards their seats and started preparing. Harry, seated next to him as usual, had to borrow a book from the school’s spares, seeing that he had not anticipated being allowed to take up Potions with an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in his OWLs under Snape’s guidance and now needed to file a belated owl order for his supplies. He was also going back and forth between getting ingredients from the school storage and borrowing utensils off Draco’s kit. Draco was not bothered, though, so used to helping Harry out in Potions that it felt like a second nature to have his work interrupted to hand him whatever he needed. That was why he almost did not notice when, unlike the usual disaster Harry tended to produce, his potion was actually  _ good _ this time. Better than both Draco’s and Hermione’s, even, something Draco did not realise until shortly before his time ran out, and he had to watch, quite astounded, as Harry was declared the clear winner of this lesson’s competition.

Slughorn, predictably, was delighted, making quite a show of drawing parallels between Harry’s talent for potions and his mother’s before finally handing him the bottle of Felix Felicis. Draco kept staring at Harry’s potion, though, intrigued at Harry’s sudden prowess for the subject. He’d known that Snape had been holding Harry back - how badly he’d done earlier with the nonverbal spells when Hermione and Draco had mastered them almost immediately had shown that beyond a doubt - but for him to suddenly be  _ that _ adept at it?

Draco got his answer later when they settled at the Great Hall for dinner.

“It was the book I borrowed,” Harry confided, under his breath as he shovelled pie onto his plate. “Someone’s written instructions in them, and I followed them. First, I did it accidentally, but it worked, so I continued and well… turns out whoever that bloke was, he really understood his potions.”

Draco was looking at him with raised eyebrows, unable to suppress a smile stretching his lips.

“You little shit!” he hissed, chuckling despite himself. “That was so Slytherin of you!”

“Well, guess hanging out with you must have rubbed off on me,” Harry grinned, his eyes sparkling.

Hermione’s face, though, was murderous as she looked back and forth between them, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” he sighed.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” she snapped.

“To be fair, it was,” Draco snorted. “He brewed the potion just like we did. Only with different instructions.”

“Yeah, it could have been a catastrophe, couldn’t it?” Weasley frowned. “But he took a risk and it paid off.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written in.  _ Puked on _ , by the look of page fifty-two, but -”

“Hang on,” Ginny interrupted him, appearing between Draco and Harry to peer at them judgmentally. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry? And  _ you _ ,” she rounded on Draco,” let him?!”

“Now, wait a moment!” Draco called, affronted. “It’s not like that!”

“It’s nothing!” Harry agreed. “It’s just an old textbook someone’s scribbled in.”

“But you’re doing what it says?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

“I just tried a few tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there’s nothing funny -”

“Ginny’s got a point,” Hermione interrupted them, her tone icy. “We ought to check there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

“You get really bitter when someone is better at you at anything, you know that, right?” Draco commented. The glare he received in response was more potent than all their Draughts of the Living Death combined. His words also prompted her to pull Harry’s bag towards her and find the copy of  _ Advanced Potion-Making _ , completely ignoring their friend's protests. She raised her wand and directed a few revelation charms at it, only to find nothing happening. Draco leaned back in his seat, grinning. 

“Finished?” Harry demanded angrily. “Or d’you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?”

“It seems all right,” Hermione admitted, quite unwillingly. “I mean, it really does seem to be… just a textbook.”

“Good. Then I’ll have it back,” Harry said decisively, taking the book and his bag from her hands, but it slipped from his hands and landed in Draco’s lap, opened on the first page. Draco lifted it up and caught sight of an inscription on the inside of the cover page, reading: “ _ This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.” _

Draco frowned and handed the book back to Harry, pointing at the inscription. Harry read it, eyebrows drawn up thoughtfully, and their eyes met. Then he shrugged and closed the book, putting it away and returning to his dinner. 

Harry kept following the so-called Half-Blood Prince’s unofficial instructions throughout their Potions classes, with similarly spectacular results, quickly earning him the fake reputation of the best potioneer of the whole year with Slughorn, much to Hermione's consternation. Harry, trying to make peace with her, offered to share the book with them, a suggestion which only made her  _ more _ furious with him as she stubbornly stuck to the official instructions, trying to outdo him the legitimate way just to prove a point. When she did not succeed, she took it out on Harry, which was why they usually parted ways for a couple of hours after their Potions classes now. 

Draco, on the other hand, did not share Hermione’s scruples, and neither, it seemed, did Weasley. Both had found themselves glancing at Harry’s book every now and then, though Weasley had quickly given up, frustrated with the Prince’s messy handwriting. Draco didn’t mind that part much. Harry’s handwriting was only minimally better than the Prince’s, and he had spent years deciphering that, so he was well-versed in hieroglyphics. He only ever caught part of the instructions, though, so his results were never as flawless as Harry’s, and even _if_ they were, he doubted Slughorn would have taken notice, as he seemed dead-set upon ignoring him. 

Towards the end of their first week, Harry (thankfully) had something else to focus on than the Prince’s book, taking the edge off Hermione’s anger at least for a couple of hours: His first private lesson with Dumbledore.

With Dumbledore’s permission, Harry filled the three of them in on every detail as they were sprawled out on a deserted spot on the grounds on Sunday after breakfast, enjoying the last feelers of the summer weather, though Draco had a feeling that Hermione and Weasley had heard most of Harry’s tale the night before and were now humouring Draco as Harry told it again for his benefit. He did not comment on it, though, instead focusing on the tale of the Dark Lord’s mother, a girl called Merope Gaunt who hailed from an impoverished Pureblood family with connections leading directly back to Salazar Slytherin, but who had been mistreated by her cruel and deranged father and had fallen into an obsessive, one-sided love with Tom Riddle, a rich Muggle boy from the village they’d lived in. Draco’s insides constringed half in pity, half in disgust as Harry described how she had ultimately enchanted Riddle to love her and run away with her. In the end, after she had fallen pregnant, she had lifted the spell, in the delusion that he’d stay without it, which Riddle, not being a very decent person himself, did not have in him. Merope fell ill and died shortly after giving birth, leaving the child at a Muggle orphanage with nothing but a name. 

Draco was silent for a long moment after Harry had finished, lost in thoughts, and when he looked up at Harry, green eyes were already on him, watching his profile. 

“So this is what these lessons are about,” Draco said finally. “For you to get to know the Dark Lord. For you to  _ figure him out.  _ Because you can’t win against an enemy you don’t know. You need to find out his weaknesses. It makes sense.”

“It’s not what I expected,” Harry admitted, frowning a little. “Information is all well and nice, but it won’t help me in a fight.”

“Information is power, Harry,” Draco contradicted. “The Dark Lord is bloody strong, and no matter how much Dumbledore teaches you, he’ll always know more Dark Magic than you do. You know that and I know that. So this might be a better strategy. If you can’t kill something with force, do it with logic.”

“I’ve never been very good at that,” Harry sighed.

“That’s what you have us for,” Draco elbowed him, smiling. Harry couldn’t help but smile back, and their eyes caught for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Draco’s throat felt dry and his heartbeat sped up, and he wasn’t sure why. 

The moment was abruptly broken when Hermione spoke up, and Draco felt horrible, realising that he’d almost forgotten that she and Weasley were present. So had Harry, if his violent twitch was anything to go by. 

“I think Draco’s right,” Hermione said thoughtfully, her unseeing eyes focussed on a faraway scene across the lake. “I think Dumbledore must be leading up to something with all this information. Something that will help you destroy him.”

“Let’s just hope it’s going to be something concrete,” Weasley muttered sleepily, his eyes closed where he was sprawled out next to her. “I mean, sure, the combined minds of you two are something fearsome to behold, but it would be a nice change if the information was handed to us clear and simple for once.”

Harry snorted, smiling as he shook his head. “I won’t argue with you there, mate.” He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eyes, but when their eyes met again, he quickly looked away. 

Draco was left to stare up at the cloudless sky, berating his racing heart. 

The following week continued much like the last: With Harry outperforming everyone at Potions while showing decidedly less favourable results in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and additionally, any class where he was required to use non-verbal spells. Draco did sit down with him once throughout the week to practice the use of them, since Hermione solemnly refused any form of help, still sulking because of the Half-Blood Prince’s Book, but strangely enough, their study session seemed to completely throw Harry off track. Harry appeared surprisingly scatterbrained in the half-hour Draco tried to make it work, confusing spells and ultimately setting the cushion on the empty armchair the Room of Requirement had provided on fire by attempting a simple  _ Expelliarmus. _

“What is wrong with you today?” Draco enquired after casting an  _ Aguamenti _ on the still smoking cushion. “Isn’t  _ Expelliarmus _ your speciality?”

Harry’s face was red and he had moved slightly away from Draco, towards the farthest corner of the couch they were sharing. He was looking anywhere but at him. 

“Non-verbal spells really aren’t  _ that _ difficult,” Draco continued, when Harry didn’t answer. “You just need to focus. I don’t know where your mind was just now but -”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry interrupted him quickly, clearing his throat. “I think I should - um - study the rest on my own. It’s late.”

Draco frowned, side-eyeing him. 

“It’s just past seven,” he pointed out.

“I still have homework,” Harry argued. 

“We finished our assignment for Transfiguration earlier today,” Draco pointed out. “What homework do you have that I don’t?”

“I didn’t finish that Potions essay.”

“But didn’t we do that yesterday at the library?”

“I want to rewrite some parts. They’re rubbish.”

Draco didn’t say anything. Harry rewriting essays and putting that much effort into Potions homework, in general, was something unheard of, and they both knew it. But Harry seemed content with his excuse, getting to his feet as quickly as he could without it looking like he was actually jumping up, his face still unnaturally red. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” he muttered, heading for the door.

“Alright,” Draco frowned, looking after him. “Goodnight.”

He got no answer, and then, Harry had rushed through the door like a Niffler after a gold coin. Draco sat there by himself for a long time, wondering what in Merlin’s name he was missing. 


	4. A New Age, Of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next chapter! With it, I bring more of our oblivious, pining boys, Quidditch and a first glance at my OCs :D
> 
> I made it through my 12 day week worse for the wear - with a cold, to be exact - and a now taking this weekend off before I start my next work marathon between job training and my usual day job. I'm afraid with all of this going on, the next chapter will have to be delayed again. It will probably be up around October 3rd or 4th. I'm having some time off then, but I'm travelling the weekend so the update may happen either Thursday or Friday, depending on my energy level and schedule. Thank you in advance for your patience :)
> 
> Now please, enjoy the new chapter :)

Between the Half-Blood Prince’s Book and the fallout of Harry using it in class, Harry’s at times inexplicably odd behaviour and their mountains of homework, it took Draco a while to realise that Hagrid was being distant with them. It was only when they passed him in the corridors one afternoon and he failed to greet them, instead staring blankly ahead and completely ignoring their presence, that Draco noticed that their friend actually hadn’t spoken to them since the beginning of the term.

When he turned to point this out to Harry, Hermione and Weasley, the three Gryffindors looked squirmish and guilty, like they, unlike him, were well aware of the problem.

“What is it?” Draco asked sharply. “What am I missing?”

“Well,” Hermione said heavily. “You do realise, don’t you, that none of us took up Care of Magical Creatures on NEWT level?”

Draco’s eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. It wasn’t that he’d hated the subject, exactly - it wasn’t his favourite, mind you, it was just that he’d modelled his timetable after what would be best suited for his potential career choices, and Hagrid’s subject had fit nowhere in there. 

“He’ll get over it,” Weasley had shrugged, shaking Draco out of his ponderings. “He can’t be angry with us because of it forever, can he?”

Draco threw a glance at Harry, who kept silent, but looked just as conflicted as Draco felt. 

The subject did not come up again until the weekend, when Hagrid had even failed to turn up at the breakfast table, his absence not going unnoticed by the four of them. 

“We’ve got to go and explain,” Hermione urged, turning pleading eyes to Draco, as if she knew that he’d be her most likely ally on this quest.

“We’ve got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” Weasley protested. “And we’re supposed to be practising that Aguamenti charm for Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”

“We didn’t hate it!” Hermione protested.

“Speak for yourself, I haven’t forgotten the Skrewts,” Weasley muttered darkly.

“I agree that we can’t leave it at that,” Draco injected, choosing to ignore Weasley’s rambling. “Hermione, our timetables are so full, he can’t seriously have expected us to take up his subject as well. If we explain it to him properly, he will understand. Plus, Harry’s got so much on his mind outside of school, and he’s got Dumbledore’s lessons as well, so he has an excuse, too. Well, Weasley has none, but if we play it smart, no one will notice.” 

Weasley glowered at him from across the table, but Draco did not look up to meet his gaze.

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry agreed. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He looked slightly nauseous at the thought, muttering: “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes, her tone impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you!” Harry’s eyes widened as he gaped at her, and Draco couldn’t help but crack a smile at Harry’s complete obliviousness.

Draco had been well aware of Harry’s sudden popularity, of course. Girls had been milling around him, big eyes and wide smiles, hopeful to get noticed. If not for Harry’s clear disinterest in them, it would have driven Draco insane. Now, though, with the obvious horror in Harry’s eyes, he even found it amusing.

“You’ve never been more interesting,” Hermione spelled it out for him, and Draco watched as Harry’s skin turned darker with each word, discomfort clearly written in every line of his face, “and, frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.” Weasley made a choking sound next to him, and Hermione glared at him before continuing. “Everyone knows you’re telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you the ‘Chosen One’ - well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?”

Harry looked like he certainly couldn’t and like he wanted to disappear underneath his Invisibility Cloak until people forgot about his existence again. Draco shook his head, suppressing a grin as he took a sip of his juice. 

Hermione proceeded to try and convince Harry of his own charms for a while longer, until Weasley got jealous and tried to divert the attention to himself (and wasn’t that interesting?), and the conversation was only interrupted when the post owls arrived, delivering the Daily Prophet and Harry and Weasley’s new Potions books. Harry then earned Hermione’s wrath by simply switching the covers of the Half-Blood Prince’s book with the new one, declaring his intention to keep the old volume to himself along with all its helpful instructions. 

The mood was, therefore, a little more tense between them as they made their way down to the Quidditch Pitch together, and Harry put a little distance between himself and Hermione, rather choosing to walk ahead with Draco.

“What do you think you’re doing, coming down here with us, anyway?” he asked when they were already halfway down to the field, the stands starting to cast shadows over them. “You’re the Slytherin captain! You’re competition! You’re not supposed to watch my trials!”

Draco snorted, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Do you really think I’ll miss this?” he scoffed. “All these people fawning over you because you’re The Famous Harry Potter and you losing your mind over it? I’m just sorry I haven’t brought sweets along for everyone’s enjoyment. It’s gonna be the entertainment of my week.”

“Some friend you are,” he grumbled. 

“The very best,” Draco grinned, elbowing him. “Gotta keep your head the right size, after all.”

“I’m still pretty sure this counts as spying.”

“Well, come to the Slytherin tryouts tomorrow morning if it bothers you so much. Then we’re even.”

“Fine, I will,” Harry promised, a challenge in his eyes, and Draco laughed, shaking his head at him. 

They had to part ways once they reached the pitch, Harry and Weasley leaving for the changing rooms and Hermione and Draco finding a seat in the already crowded stands. Hermione had not been wrong with her assessment: The crowds were indeed insane. Not only were tons of people trying out (most of them less than talented, some of them not even Gryffindors), but it seemed like half the population of Hogwarts was out here watching, too, making the stadium almost as crowded as it was on a match day. 

Draco was so amused after about half an hour of watching that his cheeks hurt from laughing, and Hermione kept nudging him to stop, though she was smiling herself.

“You really shouldn’t enjoy his suffering so much,” she commented. 

“But just look at how worked up he gets,” Draco chortled. “He looks like he’s about to hex the next person who as much as smiles at him!”

“He really does seem very allergic to all the attention,” Hermione grinned, shaking her head. 

Draco opened his mouth to say something else, but then someone took the free seat next to him and Draco looked up, surprised. He instantly sobered when he found himself face to face with Parvati Patil, who, despite having her friend Lavender Brown on her other side, was turned completely towards him, a bright smile on her face.

“Hello, Draco,” she said, and Draco blinked.

“Hello?” he replied, a little uncertain.

“Fancy seeing you here!” she grinned. “Ever since the DA stopped meeting, we haven’t been able to talk much. So, how have you been?”

“Um,” Draco said, rather eloquently, wondering when he had ever exchanged as much as two words with Patil before the start of this school year. “Fine, I guess?” 

“Good,” she smiled. “That’s good. Congrats on making it Captain of the Slytherin team, by the way! I know I’m supposed to root for Gryffindor, but I think I might be cheering for you this time around.”

“Um,” Draco repeated, feeling more unsettled with every word from her mouth. “Thanks? That’s -” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he left it hanging in the air. 

“So, I was wondering,” she pressed on, and her dark eyes were sparkling with excitement and what was clearly hope. “There's a Hogsmeade trip scheduled for October, right? And if you have nothing planned, maybe we could go together?”

Draco stared. Patil smiled back at him, expectant. It took various seconds for Draco to find his voice. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, clearing his throat. “I already made plans with Harry and Hermione.” 

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “I see. Well, maybe next time?”

“Sure,” Draco replied, a little helplessly. 

There was a tense silence, and then, Lavender linked arms with her and they got to their feet.

“See you around, Draco,” she said, smiling, and then they disappeared back to where they had come from, much to Draco’s relief. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco groaned, burrowing his head in his hands. “That was mortifying.”

Hermione, who had been quietly sitting next to him throughout the entire exchange, started to giggle helplessly. 

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “I know I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m sorry. But this was just too good. You looked like you were going to die.”

“What does she want from me?!” Draco moaned, resurfacing from his hands to look at her for help. “Why does she keep doing this?!”

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Hermione snorted, making Draco whine and Hermione laugh harder. “You and Harry are both something else, you know,” she muttered, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Other boys would kill to have pretty girls fawning over them, and you panic and want it to stop.”

“Well, you know exactly why I want it to stop,” Draco deadpanned. “I’m not interested. I don’t care how pretty they are.”

“Well, they can’t know you’re Harry-sexual,” Hermione shot back, making Draco splutter. “Anyway, you should look at this as a good thing. Or are you really going to tell me that Harry hasn’t been practically exploding with jealousy every time Parvati has been flirting with you?” Draco frowned, eyeing her warily. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, staring him down. “Oh dear,” she sighed, sounding tired now. “You’re still in denial, aren’t you? You’re still telling yourself he’s not interested.”

“Hermione,” Draco muttered. “Stop.”

“No,” she argued. “I won’t! This is ridiculous, Draco! You have to realise how much more aware Harry has been of you lately! Yes, I know Harry’s oblivious and I know it took him a long time, but I really think he’s started to figure it out now! I mean, the whole way he’s been acting around you has changed!”

Draco opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but he held in, biting his lip. Because Harry’s behaviour had indeed changed as of late. Starting with that bizarre incident where he had run out on Draco halfway through their study session, to moments where he would be unable to meet his eyes, seem flustered or unreasonably frustrated without wanting to explain himself, and then there had been that moment on the grounds where their eyes had met and they…

But no. It couldn’t be.

“No,” Draco said, out loud, shaking his head.

“Draco,” Hermione sighed, her tone annoyed, but Draco cut her off before she could dive into a lecture.

“No, you listen to me,” he told her. “If I convince myself that he feels the same now and I’m wrong, I’m never going to recover. Our friendship is never going to recover. That can’t happen, not with the war ahead. So please. Just do me a favour and don’t.”

There was pain in Hermione’s eyes now, and Draco had to make himself look away, out over the field to where Harry had started the Beaters tryout. Hermione reached out to take Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

“Why won’t you just let yourself be happy?” she whispered. “He feels the same way. I know he does.”

Draco gulped, shaking his head.

“If he really does, I’ll let it happen. But until I know for sure, I won’t believe it.”

“And when will you believe it?” Hermione demanded, an edge to her voice. “When he hits Parvati with a Bodybind Spell for touching you?!”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “If he makes it clear that he’s really interested in more than friendship, then I’ll be the last person to say no to that. But until then, I won’t push and destroy what we have just because you or Ginny or Luna or whoever you have been talking to that day have a hunch.”

Hermione sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re so stubborn,” she said sadly. “It could be so much easier.”

In that moment, Harry switched over to Chasers and Beaters tryout, and Lavender let out an embarrassing squeal directed at Weasley, making Hermione’s face go sour.

“Oh,” Draco noted drily, side-eying her. “You mean like you and Weasley? Yes, you are really leading by example.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, please,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Let’s address the Erumpent in the room. I don’t understand it but there is definitely something going on there. If Harry has been, as you put it, ‘exploding with jealousy’ over Patil, you have been ready to behead her charming friend, don’t even try to deny it. At the same time, Weasley has been losing it this morning over you praising Harry but not paying any attention to him. It’s the most sickening mating dance I have ever seen, and we’ve studied Skrewts in heat.”

Hermione was pink by the time Draco had finished and she was trying to withdraw her hand from his, but Draco held on, squeezing in comfort, his touch at odds with his harsh words.

“He’s a complete idiot!” Hermione burst out indignantly.

“He is,” Draco agreed.

“He’s so prejudiced most of the time and so insensitive and he just doesn’t bother to look past his own nose more times than not and - he’s driving me insane!”

“Right on all accounts,” Draco nodded, waiting.

“But I just,” Hermione muttered, biting her lip. “I don’t know what it is myself. I guess he just makes me feel? He works me up so much. I can’t help but not notice him. Not be aware of him.” There was a short pause before she muttered: “I know you two don’t get along, and you probably never will. And I get that. I even get why. And it should bother me, as your best friend. But still, I can’t stop myself from caring? I care about him. I care what he thinks about me. It doesn’t make sense,” she finished, looking utterly frustrated with herself.

“Feelings never do,” Draco told her soothingly. “And they don’t have to. If you like him, you like him. You don’t have to explain it.”

“Does it bother you?” she whispered, looking up at him.

“Why would it bother me?” Draco asked, honestly confused.

“Well, I know you’re kind of sensitive about Harry and Ron’s friendship,” she sighed. “And now that I have feelings for him, too… You’re not going to start feeling second best again, are you?”

Draco smiled at that, elbowing her.

“I can’t believe you even thought of me in that equation,” he scolded. “No, I’m not going to throw a tantrum over you wanting to snog Weasley and not me. No offence, but I’m quite relieved you don’t want to snog me,” he finished teasingly.

Hermione snorted, shaking her head and looking back at the field. 

“You’re impossible,” she noted, and then made a face and shuddered. Draco followed her gaze to see a smarmy sixth year Gryffindor waving up at her, trying to get her attention. 

“Well, well,” Draco noted, raising his eyebrows. “Looks like I’m not the only one with unwanted admirers.”

“That’s McLaggen,” she muttered, feeling sick. “He’s been trying to ask me out since the beginning of the year. He’s a pest.”

“Well,” Draco frowned. “He really shouldn’t make it onto the team, then. That would be horrible for Harry.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione muttered, wand in hand as she watched McLaggen mounting his broom and making his way towards the hoops. “I won’t let that happen.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

“I’ll make a Slytherin out of you and Harry yet,” he told her. “My influence is clearly coming through.”

After Hermione had thrown a discreet, well-timed Confundus Charm at McLaggen for his last save and he had missed, Weasley was chosen once more as a Keeper for Gryffindor’s team. Ginny, too, was chosen for a position as a Chaser, and Katie Bell was the only other returning face among a couple of new founds Harry had chosen. The Beaters seemed average at best but the new girl he chose as Chaser seemed to have potential and was worth keeping an eye on during the first match when Slytherin would face off against them.

Harry seemed hassled and exhausted when they met up with him once the tryouts had ended, but Weasley was ecstatic, giving them a neverending retell of his saves of the day, which only Hermione indulged him in as they made their way across the grounds towards Hagrid’s cabin.

The following conversation with Hagrid was, in short, unpleasant. Their friend was definitely holding a grudge against them for dropping his subject without prior explanation, and it took a lot of grovelling and diplomatically phrased justifications for him to finally soften and invite them in for tea. But when they left, things had thankfully been resolved between them, much to Draco’s relief. There was little he hated more than fighting with Hagrid.

They made it into school just before dinner, where Slughorn caught them in the Entrance Hall to ask Harry and Hermione for a private supper with a couple of chosen students in his quarters that very night. He completely ignored Weasley’s and Draco’s presence in the process, and while Draco was neither surprised nor particularly chafed, Weasley seemed extremely bothered by that fact. 

Harry, though, was quick to make excuses, which even happened to be valid. 

“I can’t, Professor. I’ve got detention with Professor Snape.”

“Oh dear!” called Slughorn, sounding unreasonably stressed at the news. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation, I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you both later!”

Draco tried hard to suppress a snort as he watched him go, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “Has he met Snape?”

“I know,” Harry frowned. “This detention’s already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, he won’t do it for anyone else.”

“Oh, I wish you could come, I don’t want to go on my own!” Hermione whined.

“I doubt you’ll be alone, Ginny’ll probably be invited,” Weasley snapped.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco muttered. “Please take your pity party elsewhere, will you? So we’re not Slughorn’s favourites. Who cares. Get over it, Weasley, I won’t listen to you moping over this for the next year or so.”

Weasley glowered at him and headed for the Great Hall without another word. Hermione and Harry exchanged a pained look and followed reluctantly. Draco rolled his eyes and trailed after them.

Slytherin tryouts the next morning were much less packed than the Gryffindor ones had been, though Harry stuck to his word of showing up to watch it, and, much to his shock and distress, Patil and Brown came to watch as well. They did not speak to him after - though Draco assumed that was due solely to the death glare Harry was giving the pair of them - but their chatter and giggles were occasionally audible across the field, making Draco flush uncomfortably. 

Draco tried to keep his eyes and mind on his task, though, and the assignment was made easier by the relative lack of candidates that had signed up for the tryouts this year. Draco had the suspicion that most usual candidates had shied away from the team due to Draco’s captaincy. Some Death Eater sons might have chosen to boycott him on principle, and people who had made the team due to name and connections in prior years knew better than to try the same with him. 

So the people who had turned up that morning were a bunch of people that were, quite surprisingly, actually invested in Quidditch, and some of them were really talented, making Draco’s choice not easy. In the end, he made the unusual decision to go for an alternate position in the team, one that hadn’t existed in Slytherin in 98 years, according to records. That decision was prompted by the fact that he was faced with one incredibly good Chaser, a seventh year girl called Viola Richmond who’d apparently been pointedly ignored by both Montague and Flint for reasons Draco couldn’t fathom, and three other equally talented candidates, another seventh year, a boy named Yatin Bhagat, and two non-identical twin sisters in their third year named Zoe and Carina Accrington. So Draco decided to guarantee only Viola a spot and keep the other three around permanently for practice, deciding match to match whose form was best. Zoe and Carina seemed relieved, for that matter - driven as they were, they had apparently been worried that their ambition would present a source of bitterness between them in case only one of the sisters got chosen.

Draco’s new Beaters were nothing like Crabbe and Goyle. It was important to him to choose someone with actual brains this time around, and he thought that the fourth year Abbas Isa, who’d initially appeared much too bookish for the pitch but had then performed brilliantly, and the fifth year Ryan Owens, who had such a big mouth and bright personality that he quickly promised to become to life and soul of the team, were perfect choices for his purposes.

The biggest surprise of the day, though, was Draco’s new Keeper. Yurika Haneda was a tiny 5th year girl, and from her statute, he’d have never put her between the loops. But then, he had watched her snatch one Quaffle after the next out of the air, moving in a speed that had Draco speechless, and he firmly had to remind himself why prejudices were a dangerous thing. 

“Damn, your team is good,” Harry muttered as he caught up with him after the tryouts, looking honestly impressed. “That Keeper -”

“I know!” Draco smirked, in glee. “We’re going to do you in, Harry!”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry glared half-heartedly, but he did look honestly worried. There was a moment of silence between them as Draco locked up the changing rooms. “So,” he said finally, trying and failing to sound casual. “Parvati was here for you earlier.”

“I saw,” Draco said darkly.

“I think she likes you,” Harry said. His voice sounded strange, and Draco’s heart fluttered. He did not want to let himself hope, but Hermione did have a point. Harry was acting strange about the whole Patil thing. 

“Unfortunately, it seems that way,” Draco said, not meeting his eyes. “I’m trying to let her down gently, but she doesn’t seem to get the message.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and there was silence once more. Then: “So you’re not interested in her?”

“No,” Draco confirmed, voice firm. He needed Harry to not misunderstand that part. “Not at all.”

“Oh,” Harry said again. “Good. I mean… I see.”

Silence once more, and then, Harry quite abruptly returned to the subject of Quidditch, seeming much more cheerful.


	5. Mix It Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers!
> 
> I'm back from my weeks of hell. I've gone through sickness and migraines and working till my brain threatened to explode, but now I'm finally on holiday for the next close to 2 weeks and I can relax a little and shake off the remainder of that illness. Also, I get to update, at last. I missed you and this story terribly, and I'm looking forward to hearing what all of you have to say about this new chapter, especially since you're going to get to know my OCs a little better! :D
> 
> In light of recent events, though, I want to address that those negative comments which don't contain any constructive criticism and attack me as a person will henceforth be deleted and not replied to. You don't have to like my story - it would be impossible for everyone to do so - but I won't engage in pointless discussions or personal attacks against me. You don't know me, and I ask you to please refrain from sprouting hurtful things in the comment section. Read a different story if this one bothers you. Last time I checked, there was enough selection within the Drarry fandom.

Things at Hogwarts started to settle into a new kind of routine soon. Despite the frequent interludes that brought along news from the outside world, reminding them that they were indeed at the brink of a war - Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the Knight Bus, for instance, had been arrested for Death Eater connections, which Harry, who had met the bloke before, had found very dubious indeed - the mood amongst the students was, all in all, remarkably cheerful, especially in comparison to the disaster that had been the previous year. 

Personally, Draco was enjoying himself more than ever. He spent most of his mealtimes at the Gryffindor table, sometimes only in the company of Harry, Hermione and Weasley, but sometimes in larger groups, with Ginny, Thomas, Finnigan, Longbottom or even Luna joining them from the Ravenclaw table. 

And then, there was Quidditch practice, which turned out to be a real blast now that he actually had a team that didn’t consist of a selection of gits. Draco had never been able to really connect with any of his housemates before, but here on the pitch, laughing along with everyone as Ryan imitated Snape in such an eerie manner that the teacher himself might have given him detention for the insolence, Draco seemed to have dropped into a parallel universe. 

“Do that against Gryffindor, and you might paralyse some of them,” Carina snickered. 

“Peakes would definitely be spooked,” Zoe snorted. “He’s in our year. You should have seen him all these years in Potions.”

“While pulling a Snape sounds tempting, and would surely make Weasley fall dead off his broom,” Draco grinned, making everyone laughed, “it would only infuriate Harry and Ginny, and they are both forces to be reckoned with. I know those Gryffindors. We need to beat them through skill, not through sneak.”

“Oh man,” Yatin complained. “Where’s the fun in that?” Viola kicked him, a smile on her lips. 

“Oh, believe me,” Draco snorted. “I’ll have lots of fun if you lot can repeatedly score against Weasley.”

“I thought he was your friend?” Yurika taunted from between the loops, dark eyes dancing in mirth.

“We have a complicated relationship,” Draco said airily, and the others snickered. “Fact is, I want to kick some Gryffindor arse at the opening match. I’ve lost against Harry more than enough times. This is the first time I have an actual team to play with, not just a bunch of losers.”

“Hear, hear!” Viola called, proceeding to curse Flint and Montague all the way to Sunday. 

“Noted,” Abbas said, in his overzealous manner, staring him down with his Beater’s bat resting against his shoulder. “Kick Gryffindor arse, disgrace Weasley in particular. Can we now please continue with practice?”

Draco laughed at Abbas’ open impatience, gesturing for him to go on. “By all means, don’t let me stop you,” he chuckled. “Wouldn’t want it said that your Captain keeps you from practice.”

“You’d better not, Mr Malfoy, or I’ll personally request a change of house for you so I don’t have to deal with you anymore,” Ryan told him, in his best Snape voice, and Draco couldn’t help but laugh as he flipped him off. Ryan just stuck his tongue out at him and proceeded to do his exercises with Abbas. 

They headed up to the castle together after practice, chatting away animatedly as they entered the Great Hall. The house tables were still fairly empty and Draco noted that Harry, Hermione and Weasley were nowhere to be seen, probably either in the library or up at their common room. Ginny was there, though, doing homework with Luna, and they waved him over as they caught sight of him. 

“You know,” Yurika said, a frown on her face as he turned to excuse himself. “You don’t need to always deflect to the Gryffindors. You can stay with your own house every once in a while.”

That made Draco pause to frown at her.

“I’ve never had much reason to,” he admitted. “I’ve got friends there, you know.”

“And what are we, next-door-neighbours?” Ryan prompted, raising an eyebrow. 

“Leave the poor kid alone,” Viola snorted. “We’ve all got our own circles of friends, and that’s okay, isn’t it? I don’t hang out with Yatin either just because we’re in the same year and on the same team.”

“Who would hang out with you,” Yatin rolled his eyes, making a face as he took off to find his own friends. Viola smiled sweetly, following after him. Zoe and Carina had already taken off unnoticed, sitting with a group of third-year-Slytherins at their house table.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t mix it up every now and then,” Yurika mumbled, in Viola’s wake. “Just saying.”

“You know what,” Draco frowned, looking back towards Ginny and Luna, who were watching them with interest, and then grinning at Yurika and Ryan. “You’re completely right. We should totally  _ mix things up a little.”  _ He waited for the words to sink in, but when the other two just stared at him blankly, he grabbed the sleeves of their robes and dragged them along to the Gryffindor table. “Follow me.”

“What - Draco, are you  _ insane?!” _

“They’re  _ Gryffindors _ , Malfoy!”

“They’re in your year, Ryan, calm down! I promise you’re not going to catch lion cooties or anything,” he teased, and when they reached the Gryffindor house table, they had started to attract quite some attention. Mind you, the Great Hall was still quite empty and therefore, two kicking and screaming Slytherins being dragged over to the Gryffindor table stood out a bit.

Ginny and Luna were still staring at them, Luna curious, Ginny amused, and Draco saw her pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Ginny, Luna,” Draco said, slinging an arm each around his teammates’ shoulders to keep them from running. “You know Yurika and Ryan? They’re on my team.”

“Yeah, I'd heard you made the tryouts,” Ginny answered, clearing her throat in an attempt to stay serious. “Congrats. I’m looking forward to playing you.”

“Likewise,” Yurika said, quite stiffly. “I heard you were quite good.”

“I heard the same about you,” Ginny returned the compliment.

“You’re both forces to be reckoned with,” Draco agreed, pushing both his reluctant Slytherin teammates into their seats and sitting down between them. “It’s actually going to be interesting, seeing you face off against each other.”

“It’s nice of you to bring Slytherin friends, Draco,” Luna said, so sudden and earnest and in complete Luna-fashion that it took everyone by surprise. “We never have Slytherins in our group. You’re always the only one.”

“I am,” Draco agreed, glancing from Ryan to Yurika pointedly. “It was about time that changed.”

“I feel like I’m being dragged into a cult,” Ryan murmured. “Like that one time my mother had that friend over who tried to convince her to join that witch circle of crazy hags who bathed naked in lakes and worshipped their vaginas.”

Ginny sputtered out a laugh and Yurika groaned.

“What did we say about brain-to-mouth-filter, Ryan,” she muttered. “Can’t take you nowhere.”

“I promise we’ll not make you worship anything,” Draco chuckled, holding up his hands. 

“Not even Potter?” he checked, his lips quirking. 

“You can try,” Draco snorted. “But then he’ll throw you out of this group faster than you can say ‘Quidditch’.”

“Wow, you might break my brain with such unexpected information,” Ryan gasped. “It’s not code of conduct in your little club to pray to The Chosen One? You’re shattering everything I ever believed in!”

“God, you’re so dramatic,” Yurika rolled her eyes. 

Ginny was still chuckling, but then someone caught her eye down the table and her smile widened, turning slightly malicious as she leaned towards Draco. 

“You’re being watched, Draco,” she muttered, tilting her head to the right in indication, and Draco followed her gaze to find Patil and Brown down the table. When his eyes met Patil’s, she smiled brightly, waving at him, and he nodded awkwardly, quickly looking away. 

To Ginny, he groaned lowly, making her giggle.

“I hear her swooning about you in the common room sometimes,” she informed him. “It’s quite sickening.”

“Who, who?” Ryan demanded, leaning in. “If I get gossip out of it, I’m all for this house exchange thing.”

“Of course you are,” Yurika sighed, but Ginny, the traitor, had already turned to Ryan to point discreetly into Patil’s direction. 

“She’s a menace,” Draco groaned. “How do I get rid of her?”

“You’d think he’d be flattered,” Ginny rolled her eyes, grinning at Ryan before turning to Draco to continue teasing. “She’s pretty, you know.”

“I don’t care,” Draco growled. “I don’t want her moaning after me. Make her stop!”

“You make it sound like it’s up to me!” Ginny laughed. “You got yourself into it by being fanciable, you get yourself out of it!”

“You know, you could just tell her you’re not interested,” Yurika told him, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not Alchemy.”

“I’d prefer Alchemy,” Draco groaned, and Ginny snorted.

Yurika caught her eyes, and they exchanged a look of deep suffering that crossed over their house borders. 

“Boys,” Yurika sighed, making a face.

“Tell me about it,” Ginny sighed. “You can’t imagine the discussions I’ve had with this one. Feelings aren’t his strong suit.”

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Ryan said eagerly, and Draco hit him on the back of the head, glowering at Ginny in warning. 

It was then that Harry, Hermione and Weasley finally joined them, looking a little disconcerted by the presence of the two unknown Slytherins, so Draco hastened to make introductions, which Ryan promptly ruined by identifying Weasley as: “AH! So it’s  _ him  _ we’re going to try our best to humiliate throughout the match?” This earned him another slap on the back of his head from Draco, and Yurika kept muttering about brain-to-mouth-filters, so all in all, Draco was not sure they made the best impression on them in particular, but unlike with Patil, Harry seemed to hold no particular grudge against them, so it was probably a minor success. 

The only time Harry mentioned the pair of them was when their Hogsmeade weekend drew nearer and he asked whether Draco would be going with them or not.

“Of course I’m going with you,” Draco had told him, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” Harry had shrugged, looking embarrassed. “You have other friends now, too. I didn’t want to assume…”

“Oh, come off it,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I always go to Hogsmeade with you. That’s not going to change just because there’s a couple of Slytherins now that I actually like.”

Harry had smiled at that, and that had been it. No more had been said against his teammates. 

The day of their first Hogsmeade trip of the year, the second week into October, was a cold and rainy day, and the mood between the four of them matched the weather. Apparently, Harry had tried out some spell from his Potions book this morning in his dormitory, leaving Hermione in a foul mood, and the tension carried itself all the way to the village on the other side of the lake. 

The atmosphere in Hogsmeade wasn’t much better - some stores, including Zonko’s, had closed down, leaving the place much more dull than before and rushing their group straight towards the  _ Three Broomsticks _ for a Butterbeer. Unfortunately, half the school had had the same idea, including Slughorn, who proceeded to invite Hermione and Harry to another meeting of the Slug Club on Monday. Harry was able to wriggle out of it again, seeing that he had his next class with Dumbledore scheduled that very same day, but the fact that he had been willfully ignored by the teacher once more sat bitterly with Weasley, causing him to snap at them.

After Slughorn, though, they ran into someone even more unpleasant. Draco had only met Mundungus Fletcher once, when Dora had had him over for some information exchange regarding the Order, and all he knew about him was that he was a shady underground dealer working for Dumbledore. As it turned out, though, he was also using his connections to the Order to get his hands on valuable goods - namely, Sirius’ possessions. The realisation of what he was trying to sell had Harry lose his temper faster than a Niffler could have nicked the silver goblet from Mundungus’ hands, and only with a lot of effort and mediation were they able to bring Harry into the pub without anyone getting hurt. Mundungus had the good sense to escape. 

“Well, I’m going to tell Dumbledore what’s going on,” Harry announced grimly, his fingers nearly white, so tightly were they clenched around his Butterbeer. “He’s the only one who scares Mundungus.”

“Good idea,” Hermione whispered, keen on calming Harry down, her eyes flitting to Weasley, who was looking out over the bar absentmindedly. “Ron, what are you staring at?” 

“Nothing,” he muttered, too quickly, shaking his head as if to shake off his thoughts and meet her eyes, though Draco knew as well as everyone else at this table that he had been lusting for a glance at the busty barmaid Madam Rosmerta. 

“I expect ‘nothing’’s in the back getting more Firewhiskey,” Hermione told him, her voice a brick of ice.

Draco closed his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. Hard. Maybe he should have gone to the village with his Slytherin teammates, after all - clearly, his Gryffindor friends were unfit for company today. 

It didn’t take long for them to call it a day and leave. They were one of the first, Draco couldn’t help but note - most students were still happily scooped up in their seats, enjoying their free time, and Draco felt a little envious of them, especially when they passed Madam Puddifoot’s and they caught sight of Ginny comfortably resting against Thomas.

A sharp longing twisted through him, and he couldn’t help but let out a little sigh as he redirected his gaze, away from the window of the teashop and back onto the street ahead of him. 

It took him a second too long to realise that Harry was watching him, a deep frown on his face, biting his lips as if he was contemplating the secrets of the universe. Their eyes met, and Harry startled, quickly averting his gaze, and to Draco’s immense discomfort,  _ flushing. _

Draco was unable to focus on any kind of conversation for the entirety of their walk back, his heart hammering in his chest. Because this couldn’t be happening. Harry couldn’t just  _ do _ this to him. He couldn’t just keep sending him little signs like that, signs that would be  _ so easy  _ for Draco to interpret the way Hermione and Ginny wanted him to, but then, what if he did and they were all wrong? 

He wouldn’t be able to get over this heartbreak if he let himself believe that Harry felt the same now, and then it turned out to be some kind of hoax.

Draco did not dare to look at Harry again for the rest of the evening, but he could feel Harry’s eyes on him  _ all the time. _

Harry’s second lesson with Dumbledore went much like the first: Dumbledore presented Harry with memories of the Dark Lord’s past that were supposed to clue him in on his personal history, his way of thinking and his weaknesses. 

This time, the memories focused on the poverty of a pregnant Merope Gaunt after she had been abandoned by her husband. Apparently, she had stopped using magic even to keep herself healthy and well, and it had left her in ire need, enough to require her selling family heirlooms to support herself. 

The next memory had been of Dumbledore’s first meeting with the Dark Lord - or better, the child Tom Riddle, in the orphanage where he had grown up. The director of the orphanage had told Dumbledore how Merope Gaunt had appeared on their doorstep on New Year’s Eve, beat down and weakened. She had given birth to her son, had named him and died. 

The director had also told Dumbledore that there had been strange incidents involving the boy, incidents that, with the knowledge of Riddle’s powers could only be interpreted as him using them knowingly to bully other kids. Dumbledore later found objects he had taken from his victims in Riddles’ room. He had kept them around like trophies. 

“Riddle was very excited at being told that he could do magic,” Harry frowned as he walked across the grounds with Draco, Hermione and Weasley, telling them about events of the previous night. “He said he’d always known that he was ‘special’. That was most important to him. That it would put him apart from others.”

“It makes sense,” Draco frowned. “This is typical for Pureblood rhetoric.  _ ‘Magic blooms only in rare souls. It makes us special.’ _ It was the main propaganda in Grindelwald’s days, and the Dark Lord’s recycling a lot of it.”

“But he had never heard of Grindelwald at that point,” Hermione reminded Draco with a frown. “He was a child, raised in a Muggle orphanage.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t have the mindset,” Draco shrugged.

“I think Dumbledore agrees with you,” Harry nodded. “He said… what was it? He showed contempt for anything that connected him to other people… made him ordinary.”

“Connected him to the Muggles around him, you mean,” Draco said meaningfully.

“It’s more than that with Voldemort, though, isn’t it,” Hermione frowned. “Sure, he has a great contempt for Muggles, which probably stems from his hate for his father. But he’s also convinced that he’s the most powerful wizard of our lifetime. So his need to ‘be different’ from everyone else is not exclusive to Muggles.”

“True,” Draco frowned, thoughtful now. 

“He was trying to get Dumbledore to admit that he was special,” Harry told them. “Advanced for his age. Dumbledore didn’t humour him. I guess he found his behaviour suspicious.”

“There we have it,” Hermione nodded. 

“He  _ was _ powerful for his age, though,” Harry frowned. “To have such a conscious use of his power before even attending school… It’s a little scary, isn’t it? At this point all I did was accidentally setting boas on Dudley.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, cracking a smile, but Harry waved him off.

“He also refused all of Dumbledore’s help when it came to shopping for school supplies or getting to the platform,” Harry told them. “Dumbledore said he preferred to operate alone.”

“He still does,” Draco points out. “I mean, sure, he has all the Death Eaters doing his tasks, but the real important stuff he entrusts to no one.”

“He sounds like a real creeper,” Weasley shuddered. “Why did no one realise back then what he would turn out to be?!”

“How could they have,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I think  _ you’re _ a real git most of the time, but I don’t suspect you of becoming the next evil overlord, either.”

Weasley threw him a dirty look, but at least he refrained from any more stupid comments. 

“So,” Harry asked Hermione, probably to deter the tension, “how was Slughorn’s latest party?”

“Oh, it was quite fun, really,” she shrugged, biting into her sandwich. “I mean, he drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely  _ fawns _ on McLaggen because he’s so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones.”

“Gwenog Jones?” Weasley demanded, eyes wide. “ _ The  _ Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?”

“I wasn’t aware there were more than one,” Draco muttered, under his breath, and Harry elbowed him, smiling. 

“That’s right,” Hermione said. “Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but -”  
  
“Who  _ cares _ if she was full of herself!” Weasley snapped, his ears red. “ _ Merlin,  _ Ginny must have  _ swooned! _ She  _ loves _ the Harpies!” 

“Well, yes, she seemed quite taken,” Hermione admitted. “She talked to her for quite a while and got an invite to try out when she got off age, I think.”

Weasley’s face only got more red with each word out of Hermione’s mouth, and Draco wanted to kick her and tell her to stop talking. It was like watching a Potions accident happening. These two couldn’t communicate  _ at all. _

“Anyway,” Hermione said, quite unperturbed. “Slughorn’s going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there’s no way you’ll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come.”

Harry groaned. Weasley glowered into the direction of the lake, as if the giant squid had mortally offended him with its mere existence.

“And this is another party just for Slughorn’s favourites, is it?” he ground out.

“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” Hermione confirmed.

This time, Draco couldn’t help it; he elbowed Hermione, hard, and she blinked, staring blankly at Draco, who rolled his eyes and nodded abortedly at Weasley, whose skin was flushed so dark now it could only be described as purple. 

“Look,” Hermione said hastily when she saw Weasley’s face. “I did not make up the name  _ ‘Slug Club’ -” _

“‘ _ Slug Club’,”  _ Weasley repeated with an ugly sneer. “It’s pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try getting off with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug -”

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” Hermione interrupted him, flushing almost as brightly as he did, and  _ oh dear,  _ Draco wished he was anywhere else but here so he did not have to witness this, “and I was  _ going  _ to ask you to come, but if you think it’s stupid then I won’t bother!”

There was a sudden and absolute silence among them. Draco did not dare to look at Harry but he wondered if he, too, wanted to spontaneously apparate. 

“You were going to ask me?” Weasley asked, and suddenly, his tone was completely different. It took all Draco had not to roll his eyes.  _ Merlin, Salazar and Godric. _

“Yes,” Hermione snapped. “But obviously if you’d rather I  _ got off with McLaggen…” _

Another pause in which Draco resolutely watched the movement of the clouds across the sky. Oh, look, a bird.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Weasley said, very softly, and Draco felt his stomach turn. Good Lord, he wished Hermione had better taste.  _ Weasley.  _ Honestly?!

Finally, with the crisis averted, Draco dared glancing over at Harry, only to do a double-take at the look on his friend’s face. There was a deep flush on Harry’s cheeks, too, not unlike the one Hermione and Weasley had been wearing, and he seemed unnaturally squeamish.

“Everything okay?” Draco hissed, under his breath. He couldn’t help himself. Harry discomfort was terribly obvious.

But Harry didn’t turn to meet his eyes. Instead, he nodded his head jerkily and stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, probably to excuse himself from any kind of verbal answer. 

The Christmas party was not mentioned again for the next couple of days. 

With the first match of the season approaching, Harry and Draco soon fell into an easy kind banter, exchanging friendly taunts and barbs while simultaneously trying to get their team up to speed. Draco knew that Harry was more worried about the match than he was and that the reason for that was almost solely Weasley’s erratic form. Not that Harry mentioned it in front of Draco, bless him, but Ginny was always more than happy to rant about her brother’s incompetence and lousy attitude, and Draco did not exactly discourage her. 

Then, there was another incident involving Ginny, her git of a brother and Harry, and as the cherry on top, Thomas, Hermione and Viktor, in his glowing absence. It seemed that after an especially gruesome practice of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry and Weasley had returned to the common room to Ginny kissing her boyfriend. Maybe predictably, after the way he had acted towards Draco this summer when he’d been under the assumption he was dating his sister, Weasley had lost his shit. Honestly, Draco had no idea what Weasley’s problem with his sister’s dating life was. It was not like he didn’t  _ know _ Ginny had a boyfriend. And what did he think they had been doing all these months, braiding each other’s hair? Because Thomas’ hair was short. 

Anyway, apparently, he had started yelling and accusing Ginny of being loose and Ginny, in turn, had (quite rightfully, in Draco’s opinion) retaliated by calling him a jealous prude. 

And then, she had made the mistake of dragging Hermione into it by mentioning Viktor. 

“He’s only jealous because Harry kissed Cho and Hermione kissed Krum and he’s the only odd one out,” Ginny ranted at Draco across the breakfast table, the only one of the Gryffindors down with him at this hour. “If he got some kissing of his own done once in a while -”

“You did not actually say that, did you?” he asked, grimacing.

“Well, something like that,” she frowned, tilting her head to watch him. “Why? I’m right. You know I am.”

“Be that as it may,” Draco sighed. “Hermione and Weasley had just been growing some vibes. You can’t go and throw her under the bus like this now. Ginny…”

“Oh,” she murmured, looking abashed. “I didn’t know. But I thought it was obvious? That Krum and her were an item back then.”

“She was very private about the details,” Draco rolled his eyes. “And your brother is oblivious. He wouldn’t have realised.”

“Well, shit,” Ginny groaned, looking properly guilty now. “I feel like a real arse now.” She chewed her lip, idly playing with her food. “Do you think there’s any chance he won’t freak out about it?”

Draco snorted. It was answer enough. 

Naturally, Weasley was in an abysmal mood when he next saw him and treated Hermione horribly. The poor girl, of course, had no clue what she had done to offend, and by lunchtime she seemed ready to burst into tears, leaving Draco on warpath.

“Weasley,” Draco groaned, his fist closing like a vice around the redheads elbow, keeping him from following after Harry and Hermione into the Great Hall.

“What is it? Let go of me!” he snapped, immediately aggressive, but Draco did not budge.

“You listen to me,” he hissed. “I won’t pretend to understand what Hermione sees in you. In my eyes, she was better off with Viktor. But for whatever reason, she has her eyes set on you now, so if you keep treating her like this, I will cut your head off with a Slicing Hex and use it as a Potions Ingredient. Am I clear?”

But apparently, he could have as well been speaking Swahili because none of his words seemed to register with Weasley. He just pulled his arm out of his grasp, snarling: “Get off me!”, and pushing at him for good measure, making Draco stumble. 

That, in turn, was seen by Ginny, who popped up at Draco’s side to snap at her brother, which ended up in another shouting match between the siblings that had to be torn apart by Professor McGonagall, who deducted points from Gryffindor  _ and  _ Slytherin for their behaviour. Fuming, they finally made their way into the Great Hall, where a confused Harry and Hermione were awaiting them. 

None of them spoke for the rest of the meal, leaving Hermione and Harry to make awkward conversation. 

When the day of the match finally rolled around, Draco took a rare breakfast with his own team at the Slytherin table, using it to motivate his team, which in turn rewarded him by being in higher spirits than he’d ever had the fortune to witness.

“Okay, remember,” he told them as they made their way down to the pitch together, his eyes zooming in on Zoe, Yatin and Viola in particular, the latter who had to step on Yatin’s foot to make sure he paid attention to Draco. “Weasley is vulnerable. I want you to destroy him.”

“Someone sounds bitter,” Ryan commented, his eyes alight in the prospect of gossip. “Do tell, do tell.”

“Let’s just say he’s been a particular dungbomb this week, and I want him punished,” Draco muttered, his eyes finding Viola’s, who grinned and saluted him.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she nodded. 

“Shall Abbas and I land him in the hospital wing?” Ryan asked casually, making the fourth-year next to him look slightly squirmy at the prospect.

“Tempting as that offer is,” Draco sighed. “Harry might get angry with me, so no. You may scare him, though.”

“We can make it look like an accident,” Ryan offered. “It would never be traced back to you.”

Draco laughed. Yurika hit Ryan, effectively shutting him up. 

When they stepped out onto the pitch about an hour later, fully dressed and facing a cheering crowd, the air seemed electrified. The Gryffindor team was already out, and to his great disappointment, Weasley seemed to have gotten his nerves under control. He seemed strangely confident, and Harry grinned at Draco during their perfunctory handshake, in the way that usually signalled that he’d done something terribly sneaky. Draco’s eyes narrowed, but he refrained from needling him in front of Madam Hooch. 

“Mount your brooms,” Madam Hooch called and Draco drew his eyes away from Harry’s mischievous grin to obey. “On the whistle… three… two… one…”

The whistle sounded, and they were up in the air. Harry and Draco zoomed up highest to search the pitch for the Golden Snitch. Meanwhile, the scramble for the Quaffle had begun underneath them, and, much to his satisfaction, Viola emerged victorious. Draco allowed himself a moment of watching her dodge Katie Bell’s advances before she passed on to Zoe, and then, the commentary started to register with him. 

“... and I think we’re all surprised to see the team that Potter’s put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help…”

Draco glanced first back at Harry, who had frozen midair, looking positively livid, then towards the commentator’s podium, where he easily spotted the familiar face of Zacharias Smith. Draco groaned out loud.

“Who gave  _ him  _ the job?!” Draco complained, loud enough for Harry to hear.

“I have no idea,” Harry ground out.

“Then again,” Smith continued his commentary, “in today’s match, Weasley’s performance might not matter as much, seeing as Potter is facing off against another great ally of his. After all, Draco Malfoy is known for going soft against his best friend…”

“I’m going to break into the Hufflepuff dorms and murder him in his sleep,” Draco snapped. “Join me?”

“With delight,” Harry answered. 

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin’s first attempt at the goal,” Smith informed them, and both their gazes snapped towards Weasley’s goal posts, “it’s Bhagat streaking down the pitch and -” 

“Come on, Yatin,” Draco muttered, watching as his Chaser threw the Quaffle, and it was a well-aimed hurl, but then, Weasley was there, catching it out of thin air. Draco cursed, and Harry grinned.

“- Weasley saves it, well, he’s bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose…”

“That’s right, Smith, he is,” muttered Harry, winking at Draco cheerfully before taking off in search for the Snitch. Draco grumbled, taking off into the opposite direction. 

It turned out the teams were well-matched. Both Keepers did a fantastic job, much to Draco’s consternation, so that it took almost twenty minutes for the first team to score, and then, it was Gryffindor, by means of Ginny. Slytherin was not far behind, though, scoring two times in quick succession, once through Viola, and once through Zoe, before Demelza Robins helped Gryffindor draw level again.

Then, for a long time, nothing happened, as the Keepers kept their goals meticulously clean.   
  
Draco knew that it would come down to him or Harry. There was no way that this game would be decided any other way. 

The Snitch, though, remained elusive for a long, long time, leaving the two Seekers to fly circles around the pitch. Only when almost an hour and a half had passed did the Snitch finally show. 

Draco and Harry both saw the golden ball at the same time and dove for it simultaneously. Draco was positioned a tiny bit closer but Harry had the faster broom so he quickly caught up, and then, it was a scramble between them, elbows and speed and taunts. 

“This one is  _ mine _ , Potter,” Draco hissed, shouldering him sideways once more. “I’ll show Smith who’s soft on who!”

Harry turned to look at him, probably to throw something back, but then he faltered. It was only one moment, but it was enough. Draco reached out, and then, his fingers closed around the tiny golden ball, the delicate wings struggling against his firm grip.   
  
“YES!” Draco yelled, raising his fist up in the air to parade his victory, turning to face Harry - who had frozen, staring at him, flushed completely scarlet, his mouth opening and closing mutely. 

And then, Draco was buried in his teammates’ embraces, and he had no time to figure out what Harry’s expression meant, or why he had hesitated. 


	6. Nargles All Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers :) I'm back with the new chapter, and the event most of you will have been waiting for: Slughorn's Christmas Party. I won't say much and will just leave you to reading without further ado. I hope you'll enjoy it :D

Draco spent the evening celebrating up in his common room with his teammates, so naturally, he did not witness any of the drama that was simultaneously taking place up at the Gryffindor quarters. Only when he was stepping into the Great Hall the next morning to find Lavender Brown hanging all over Weasley, snogging the living daylights out of him while Hermione was mysteriously absent did he realise that something had gone very, very wrong indeed. 

He exchanged one meaningful look with Harry, who was sitting next to the pair of them with a pained expression on his face, before he grabbed a bunch of random sandwiches and walked right out into the Entrance Hall again. Thankfully, Harry got the hint and followed him only a minute later.

“What in Merlin’s name is this about?” Draco hissed, rounding in on him. “Why is Weasley snogging Brown?! I thought he and Hermione were getting somewhere!”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know? They had a fight last night. It was a bit my fault, I think. You know how fucked up Ron’s self-confidence was before the match, so I pretended to slip him a few drops of Felix Felicis during breakfast - I only pretended, though!” he added quickly when Draco raised his eyebrows. “The problem was, Hermione saw and was properly scandalised that I would cheat in a match against you, and then, afterwards, she confronted me and threatened to tell you or McGonagall. So I revealed the truth and told them that, regardless of me, um, failing to catch the Snitch -” he did not meet Draco’s eyes when he said it, and pushed on quickly, “Ron’s brilliant performance was his own doing, and not at all potion-induced. And  _ then _ things went pear-shaped real quick because Ron turned on Hermione for thinking he couldn’t perform well without the help of a potion in the first place.”

Draco closed his eyes and banged his head against the stonewall behind him.

“He’s such a  _ moron _ ,” Draco moaned. “One day, I’m actually going to kill him.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry sighed, shrugging again. “He’s just… really insecure a lot of times, I think. And Lavender is very upfront about liking him.”

“Hermione made it clear that she liked him!” Draco growled, feeling properly outraged for his friend. “Despite Weasley acting like a bag of dung bombs the entire time she still stuck around! She invited him to that stupid Christmas party! What more does he want?”

“Well,” Harry bit his lip. “Lavender snogged him in front of the whole common room. So I think she, um, staked her claim a little more clearly than Hermione.”

Draco growled and glared at him. Harry had the decency to look abashed.

“Fine,” Draco snapped. “Whatever. She’s too good for him, anyway. I hope Hermione finally sees that now and finds herself a nice bloke who’s actually worth it.”

And with that, he pushed himself off the wall and walked past Harry towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Harry called after him.

“To find Hermione and comfort her,” he called over her shoulder. “You go and be a third wheel to that piece of shit and his new dumbass girlfriend, I don’t care.”

Harry was biting his lip and looking properly guilty as Draco turned his back on him but he did not care. He knew, deep down, that he was letting his anger for Weasley out on Harry but then again, Harry was sticking with Weasley, as he always did, so maybe he deserved it this time.

And enough was enough. This time, he had really hurt Hermione, and Draco was not going to forgive their so-called friend for treating her with so little care. Weasley always got away with everything. Well, not this time. Not if Draco had any say in it. 

He found Hermione, quite predictably, in the library. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though whether from lack of sleep or actual tears, Draco could not tell. She looked subdued and a little lost as she resolutely stared down at her book, and it tore at Draco’s heart.

Quietly, he took the seat next to her. She did not look up.

“Hey,” he whispered, staring at her profile. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” she said, her voice hard.

Draco sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s  _ me,  _ Hermione,” he whispered. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

Finally, she looked up at him, and immediately, her eyes filled with tears. Draco took it upon himself to take the book out of her hand and pack her bag. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he told her. 

Hermione just nodded and followed him.

They found a quiet corner of the castle and Hermione wasted no time to press her face into Draco’s shoulder. Draco pulled her close and stroked her hair in comfort, feeling the way she trembled against him and hating Weasley with every fibre of his being.

“He’s not worth it,” he whispered. “You’re so much better than this, Hermione. You’re smart and sweet and he’s just an arse who obviously doesn’t even have taste.”

“Oh, please,” Hermione scoffed, pulling away from him and furiously rubbing at her face. “We both know she’s prettier than me. Don’t think I haven’t seen Ron gawking at her all year.”

“Excuse me?” Draco gaped. “She’s  _ not _ prettier than you. Sure, she and Patil doll herself up all the time, but that doesn’t make them pretty.”

“No offence, but I don’t think you’re the best authority on pretty girls,” she muttered miserably. 

“Oh, so being gay makes me blind?” he challenged. “Good to know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I mean,” she said, with a watery smile.

“I think if you can have an opinion on girls’ beauty without being attracted to them, so can I,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I’m telling you, Lavender Brown has nothing on you. As it is, even if she were the prettiest girl at this school - which she is not - she has the charm of a mosquito, so really, there is no way in hell she is more attractive than you.”

Hermione’s smile was a little more sincere when she met his eyes and bumped his shoulder.

“You’re sweet,” she murmured. “When you say it like that, I almost believe you.”

“You should,” Draco said, bumping her back. “Because I mean it.”

Hermione sighed, her face falling again. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Draco decided not to say anything but just sit with her in silent comfort for a while longer.

As Christmas approached, their little group remained decidedly divided in two. Harry tried his best to spend time with both Draco and Hermione as well as Weasley, though as the time passed he was more often found with them than he was with the red-headed nuisance, Draco noted with no little satisfaction. 

“Well, he’s mostly occupied snogging Lavender,” Harry grimaced when Draco asked him about it. “It’s not like he’ll miss me while he’s trying to feel her up.” 

Draco mimicked gagging, and Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

Weasley was not the only one who seemed to have sniffed too much Amortentia as the holidays drew closer. When the staff began to festively decorate the halls, Harry had to actively dodge mistletoes because girls had started to linger in their vicinity, hoping to catch him walking underneath one or in some cases even going as far as ‘accidentally’ pushing him under one. 

“It’s becoming ridiculous!” Harry vented at them one afternoon between classes, bent over their homework. “I have to take carefully constructed, mistletoe-free routes to class now, or else risk damnation.” 

Draco tried very hard to keep a straight face. He did have compassion for Harry’s situation, he really did - not to mention that random girls kissing him really were something of a personal worry of his - but he couldn’t help but find Harry’s earnest outrage a little adorable. The boy could really be a little dramatic when he wanted to be. 

Hermione, on the other hand, rolled her eyes at Harry. She, unlike Draco, had no patience for Harry’s antics these days. They both knew it had to do with Weasley snogging Brown all over the school every day of every week.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s your own fault,” she snapped. “if you just went ahead and asked someone to Slughorn’s Christmas Party, they’d stop thinking they stood a chance!” At those words, Harry flushed a bright red and decidedly avoided Draco’s eyes. “Actually,” Hermione continued, not halting at Harry’s discomfort, “I overheard some girls in the bathroom plotting to slip you some of Fred and George’s love potion, so you need to be very careful.”

“Excuse me?” Draco cut in, incredulous. “You need to have these girls’ rooms inspected, Hermione! You’re a bloody Prefect! Use your powers for good!”

“These girls aren’t stupid, Draco,” she rolled her eyes. “They’d hide the potions well. Fred and George are sending them masked as cough syrup, right? I’d have no idea how to find them unless I knew exactly what I was looking for.”

Draco glowered at her, but she ignored him to turn back to Harry.

“The point is,” she pressed on. “You could put a stop to it if you  _ just asked someone.” _

“Actually,” Harry said, and now his voice sounded strangely thin. He cleared his throat, and it looked like he had to force himself to meet Draco’s eyes. Draco blinked. “Actually,” he repeated, still flushed a deep red, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me, Draco.”

Draco stared. And blinked. And stared some more. 

His lungs wouldn’t draw any air. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. 

As the silence between them drew on, some of the colour seemed to drain from Harry’s face, and he quickly added: “I mean, um, as friends, of course.” He smiled, though he looked uneasy, and Draco didn’t know what was happening. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Had he finally gone ‘round the bend?

Only when Hermione kicked him underneath the table did he twitch, and it helped him shake himself out of his stupor. Draco gulped and, at last, he nodded.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’d like that.”

“You would?” Harry asked, a little too fast, a little too hopeful. 

And now Draco’s heart was definitely beating again, for it felt like it was going to beat out of his damned chest and hit Harry in his stupid, hopeful face.

This couldn’t be happening. This had to be some kind of farce. After all these  _ years _ spent pining, Harry couldn’t actually be interested in him.

… or could he?

“Yes,” Draco breathed. He couldn’t bring himself to say more, but apparently, it was enough, because then, Harry was smiling at him, and  _ Merlin _ , Draco felt like he was going to die, then and there. 

When he broke the eye contact, unable to look at Harry any longer from fear of spontaneous implosion, Hermione was grinning, her eyes fixed on her notebook. She was scribbling something onto the side marges and underlining it furiously. When Draco looked closer, it was one word, all capitals.

_ FINALLY!!!!! _

The news that Harry was taking Draco to Slughorn’s party spread like wildfire through the school, and though the entire female student body seemed to be disappointed that Harry was taken for the night, no one seemed to perceive Draco as a serious threat. Rather, he was seen as a fill-in - the friend who would generously act as a plus one to fend off unwanted admirers. It stung a little, that Draco was not taken serious as Harry’s date, though officially, it wasn’t a date to begin with. 

“Oh, please,” Hermione scoffed when he voiced those concerns out loud. “He was totally asking you for a date in the first place, he just backtracked because you were too shocked to answer right away. He can slam the label ‘friends’ as a safety net over it all he wants, but we all know it’s a date, Draco.”

“No, we don’t,” he argued quietly. “You and I might _suspect_ it, but that’s it.”

“You are so stubborn,” she called, exasperated. “When will you start believing that Harry returns your feelings? When he confesses his love in front of the Great Hall?”

“No - I -” Draco rolled his eyes, “Okay, I do think - hope that, maybe, there is… that he does like me, at least a little… from the way that he asked.”

“Good,” Hermione deadpanned, “because it would have been pretty damn stupid to deny that.”

“But I just,” Draco sighed, fidgeting. “I dunno? I never thought he’d actually show interest in me. I don’t know how deep it goes. Maybe we’ll go to this party and he’ll decide that it’s nothing, after all. Maybe I’ll scare him off by being too intense. Maybe -”

“Draco,” Hermione interrupted him, shaking her head. “Stop trying to talk yourself out of this by imagining everything that could go wrong. This is what you wanted.  _ Harry  _ is what you wanted for  _ two years. _ And now he wants you, too. Enjoy it! Stop overthinking it.”

“I… yes,” Draco sighed, nodding. “You’re right. Of course, you are.”

Harry and Draco, for that matter, did not address the party again, but there was a slight shift in their dynamic, Draco couldn’t help but notice. It was there in the way their gazes met and held every now and then, neither of them breaking away until they absolutely had to. Or that one time in Potions class when Draco had passed Harry his knife and their fingers had brushed, and Harry's hand had lingered, green eyes fixed on where they had touched as if in trance - then, Slughorn had strolled over to their table, and he had pulled his hand back as if burned. 

They never talked about it, but there was something in the air between them, and it was driving Draco  _ mad  _ with confusion and longing so that when the day of the party finally arrived, he was almost buzzing with all these conflicting emotions. 

The day didn’t start off particularly well, either. Weasley and Hermione had a minor row throughout Transfiguration which had Hermione so distraught that he’d had to spend the first half of lunch break talking his friend down before they could take their meal in the Great Hall.

When they joined their friends at the Gryffindor table, at last, the offending redhead was present as well, Brown practically attached to his face, and Draco wanted to knock his plate of chicken over his head. Instead, he ignored him, rather turning his attention to the stilted conversation Harry appeared to be having with Patil. Patil, bless her, looked satisfyingly embarrassed at her friend’s horrifying public display, but Harry still seemed less than pleased to be talking to her. He was strangely stone-faced and his normally bright green eyes were icy. It would have been worrying, if Ginny and Luna had not been sitting nearby, watching as if presented with the entertainment of the century. Well, at least that was Ginny’s expression. Luna looked merely curious. 

“Hello,” Draco said tentatively, sitting down across from Harry with Hermione as a buffer between himself and Patil. 

“Hi Draco, hi Hermione,” Patil said, both too eager and relieved, though this time, her bright smile was not only directed at Draco, but at Hermione, too. She was clearly trying to make up for laughing at her in Transfiguration when Weasley had said some derogatory things. It made Draco dislike her even more. He hated fakeness. 

Hermione, though, seemed to have no such reservations, as she smiled back and engaged in small talk with her. “Are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight?”

“No invite,” she pouted. “I’d love to go, though, it sounds like it’s going to be really good… you’re going, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m meeting Cormac at eight and we’re going to the party together.”

These words had a tremendous effect on everyone at the table. Weasley, for one, stopped snogging Brown to stare at her. Brown seemed slightly flabbergasted at first, though she, too, seemed intrigued. Draco remembered how much of a gossip she was. 

Draco, though, had raised his eyebrows in surprise as well, and his eyes had flown across the table to meet Harry’s in question. He blinked at him, clearly as shocked as he was.

“Cormac?” Patil asked eagerly. “Cormac McLaggen, you mean?”

“That’s right,” Hermione confirmed, with relish. “The one who  _ almost _ became Gryffindor Keeper.” 

Draco had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. It was well-done. The taunting. The choice of date. McLaggen might be a complete pillock and Draco was pretty sure Hermione was going to regret it by the end of the night, but maybe, just for this, it would be worth it to her. Just to rub it into Weasley’s face. 

It didn’t look like Harry agreed with him, though. He looked mildly appalled. 

“Are you going out with him, then?” Patil asked, wringing the piece of gossip for all it was worth.

“Oh - yes - didn’t you know?” Hermione laughed, and Draco chanced a glance at Weasley, who looked positively livid.

_ Good,  _ Draco thought.  _ Serves you right.  _

“No!” Parvati shook her head, looking as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas Eve now. “Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don’t you? First Krum, then McLaggen…”

“I like  _ really good  _ Quidditch players,” Hermione corrected, and Draco couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, which he quickly tried to hide behind a cough. Underneath the table, Ginny kicked him, but she, too, was silently laughing, though whether the amusement was directed at him or at Hermione, he was not sure.

“Well,” Hermione sighed, getting to her feet. “See you… Got to go and get ready for the party…” 

Draco looked after her, biting down on a grin. Damn, he had to congratulate her on this performance later. But his blossoming pride was interrupted when he felt Patil slide up the bench to sit next to him, shyly bumping his shoulder to get his attention.

“I can understand what she sees in talented Quidditch players, though,” she told him coyly, and Draco’s stomach turned a little. “Did I already tell you that you were amazing in the last match?”

“Um,” Draco said intelligently, casting a helpless look towards Harry. The other boy’s face had turned stony once more. “Thank you?”

“Did you know,” Harry spoke up suddenly, his voice loud and cutting and his eyes boring into Patil, “that Draco is accompanying me to Slughorn’s party tonight?”

“Oh, yes, I’d heard,” she nodded, clearly not concerned by that fact. “You’re going as friends, right?”

At that, Harry only glared, but, much to Draco’s disappointment, he did not protest. Ginny, though, coughed discreetly and muttered: “Proves what you know.”

Draco bit down on his lip. Hard. Harry, across from them, flushed and focused his attention on his unfinished food.

Patil, on the other hand, looked suddenly unsure. “What was that?” she asked Ginny.

“Nothing,” Ginny smiled, a little too sweetly.

Luna was scanning her face critically, and then she told her: “I think the Wrackspurt got you, Parvati. It’s messing with your brain. You should really let Madam Pomfrey have a look at you.”

Patil looked affronted at that. Draco picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice to hide his smile.

That night, Draco took a ridiculously long time to get ready. He kept scolding himself. It wasn’t like Harry didn’t  _ know _ him, inside-out. And he wasn’t one who was easily impressed by appearances, either. But tonight was different. Tonight, Draco wanted to make an impression, so he kept pulling out shirt after shirt and holding them to his chest, checking them with his skin colour and his hair and robes. Finally, he settled on a light-grey shirt that brought out his eyes, as well as black trousers and dress robes. He fussed with his hair for a long while, and when the door opened to reveal Zabini, he froze for a moment, embarrassed at being caught. 

Zabini, though, just snorted, shaking his head.

“Well, well,” he said, clearly amused. “Hot date, Malfoy?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Draco muttered, flushing. 

“Yeah, right,” Zabini chuckled. “The whole school has only waited for years for you and Potter to get your shit together and ask each other out. It was inevitable. So don’t give me that crap.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he chose to stay silent. On his side of the dormitory, Zabini was sliding off his school robes and undoing his Slytherin tie, still looking at him thoughtfully.

“Don’t brush your hair back like that,” he frowned. “You look better when you let it fall freely. Less like your father.”

“Oh,” Draco said softly, and freed some of his longer strands from where he had fixed them behind his ears. “Alright. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Zabini shrugged, undoing the buttons of his shirt now.

“Who are you going with?” Draco asked.

“Pansy,” Zabini said casually.

“Oh,” Draco blinked. “I’ve always wondered. Are you and her…?”

“Seeing each other? Yes,” Zabini said simply. “Have been since fourth year.”

“Fourth year?” Draco repeated, surprised. “Wow. That’s a long time.”

“What?” Zabini snorted. “Just because my mother has been married eight times I can’t have a long-lasting relationship?”

Draco flinched, shaking his head. “No,” he frowned. “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m the last person who’d assume people to be like their parents.”

“True,” Zabini sighed, shrugging out of his shirt and picking up a bright red one from his trunk. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Zabini getting ready and Draco fussing with his hair until he was satisfied. They left the dormitory together. In the common room, Zabini met up with Parkinson, who was wearing a tightly fitted, short red dress under her dark robes, matching Zabini’s shirt perfectly. It made him wonder if she’d coordinated it. It felt like something the Parkinson he used to know would do. 

“Hey, Draco!” Ryan called from the couch in front of the fireplace, and Draco turned to find him and Yurika sitting there with Zoe and Carina, all staring in his direction, huge grins on their faces. “Don’t you look dashing!”

“Shut up!” Draco groaned, but he made his way over to talk to them anyway. 

“Don’t tease him,” Yurika kicked Ryan, who pouted exaggeratedly but only grinned when she fixed him with a stern look. Rolling her eyes, she turned to Draco. “You  _ do _ look nice, honestly,” she told him, encouragingly.

“He looks drop-dead gorgeous, more like it,” Carina added meaningfully. “I’m sure he and Potter will make quite a sight tonight.”

“Yup,” Zoe agreed. “The girls will  _ swooooon.” _

“Well, you should definitely have no problem pulling tonight, girls or boys, for that matter,” Ryan grinned, and Yurika kicked him again. “Ow!” he complained. 

“Hanging out with Ginny Weasley is no good for you,” she muttered.

“I beg to differ,” Ryan called. “She’s a charming young woman and she’s opening my horizons to a whole new world I have never even considered before.”

“Yeah, a whole new world of gossip.”

“ _ Inter-house unity,  _ Haneda!”

“Yeah, right,” Draco muttered, clearing his throat. He would kill Ginny the next time he saw her. It would be a slow and painful death, and it would not be traced back to him because he was a Slytherin, thank you very much. “I’ll have to go now.”

“Okay,” Ryan grinned. “Say hi to the Golden Boy from us.”

“Like hell, I will,” he muttered and left them with a wave, feeling the heat in his face as he left the fire-warmed comfort of the common room for the cold corridors of the castle. 

He had agreed to meet Harry at eight o’clock, and though he was a little early himself, Harry was already there when he arrived. Harry was dressed rather simply, his shirt white and his robes and trousers black, but Draco could tell that he had still made an effort, and as Draco approached, Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair in a hopeless last-minute struggle. It made Draco smile, and when he reached out to touch his friend’s shoulder, Harry jumped, heat rising to his cheeks as he whirled around to face Draco.

“Hi,” he greeted him breathlessly, eyes roaming over Draco. Draco tried his best not to tense under the scrutiny. 

“Hi,” he smiled instead. “I hope you didn’t wait long?”

“Not at all,” Harry breathed, gulping slightly, eyes now slightly glazed over as he stared at Draco. He hoped this was a good sign. 

“Okay,” Draco said, taking an unsteady breath. “Shall we go?”

Harry nodded, and it looked like he was shaking himself back to reality. He waved a clumsy hand towards the stairs, and they fell into step next to each other, making their way for Slughorn’s office. 

It was only as they walked that Draco noticed how many people were lingering in the corridors tonight, and none of them were even pretending not to watch them. A large number of them were girls making cow eyes at Harry, and the realisation made Draco tense up ever so slightly. Harry, though, did not seem to pick up on any of it, because when he opened his mouth next, he muttered, very quietly: “You look nice.”

Draco forgot how to breathe. It took him a moment before he managed to find an answer, and even then, his voice was shaky.

“Thank you,” he replied, feeling the flush taking over his face. “So do you.”

Harry did not respond, and then, they arrived at Slughorn’s office, and the noise prevented them from continuing any soft-voiced conversations, anyway. Slughorn’s office had been decorated elegantly and there was music playing and people mingling, older warlocks as well as students. 

They had barely stepped into the room when Slughorn himself spotted and approached them, eyes, naturally, only for ‘the Boy Who Lived’, not that Draco had expected anything different. 

“Harry, m’boy!” he called, his voice warm and delighted, and then, they found themselves promptly introduced to one of the guests of honour, Eldred Worple, author of  _ ‘Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires’ _ and his vampire companion, Sanguini. Worple, on his part, seemed absolutely heart-eyed at making Harry’s acquaintance, much to Harry’s discomfort. 

“I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day,” he told Harry, as soon as the Professor had left them to their own devices, “ _ Where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting? _ ”

“Er,” said Harry, throwing a helpless look at Draco, “were you?”

“Just as modest as Horace described!” Worple called, in apparent delight. “But seriously -” and then, he was all business-persona, “I would be delighted to write it myself - people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say, in four- or five-hour sessions -”

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” Draco cut in, putting a protective hand on Harry’s elbow, “but I’m afraid that as Harry’s manager, I have to inform you that the rights on his autobiography have already been signed off to another contractor.”

Worple’s face fell, and for the first time, he actually met Draco’s eyes. 

“Harry’s  _ manager? _ ” he repeated, a note of incredulity in his voice. “Excuse me, aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son? You’re not even off age!”

“Neither is Harry,” Draco shrugged, unconcerned. “Now, if you’d please refrain from bothering my client with business offers we can’t engage in, we’d really appreciate that.”

Worple just stared at him, obviously speechless. 

“Oh, I’ve spotted a friend of ours over there,” Draco lied, squeezing Harry’s arm. “If you’d excuse us, Mr Worple. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

And with that, they were off, disappearing into the crowd. It didn’t take long before Harry burst into helpless laughter.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry wheezed. “That was  _ brilliant _ , Draco! My  _ manager?!  _ Blimey!”

“Well, it did the job, didn’t it?” Draco chuckled. “I wasn’t going to sit by and let this leech talk your head off for the rest of the evening! I know his type. I’ve been to enough charity events of my father’s to know how to get rid of them.”

“You are a marvel, you are,” Harry grinned, eyes glistening in the fairy lights. “I’m so glad I came with you. I’m serious.”

Draco blushed, unreasonably pleased. Harry just looked at him for a moment, but when he opened his mouth to say something, they were basically tackled by a harassed-looking Hermione, who squeezed in between them, looking over her shoulder. 

“Oh, thank  _ goodness _ I found you!” she muttered, absentmindedly brushing some errant curls from her face, making her look no less dishevelled. “Hide me!”

“What in Salazar’s name -” Draco began, appalled, but Hermione gripped his arm and interrupted him, eyes urgent and wide.

“I just left Cormac under the mistletoe,” she hissed, in way of explanation.  _ “Hide me.” _

Draco, being the loyal friend he was, grabbed both Harry and Hermione’s arms and dragged them off towards a shadowy corner of the room, where he hoped they’d be safe from any dubious admirers.

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed, sinking against the wall in relief. 

“You know, it serves you right for coming with him,” Harry muttered, petulantly.

“I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” Hermione shrugged. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but -”

“Woah,” Draco interrupted her, raising his eyebrows. “I would have staged an intervention if you had asked  _ him _ , just so you know.”

“Honestly,” Harry hissed.  _ “Smith?!” _

“Yes, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, if you must know, because McLaggen makes Grawp look like a gentleman,” Hermione deadpanned.

“Well, next time he tries to touch you, hex him,” Draco told her, sternly. “Or do you need me to come over and hex him for you? I thought you were emancipated enough, but I would do it.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Hermione snorted, but she cracked a smile at him. 

Harry, though, was looking at Hermione with narrowed eyes, and after a moment, he asked: “Let’s get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?” 

Hermione blinked, looking almost hurt at the suggestion. “Do you really think I’d stoop that low?” she asked.

“Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen -”

“There’s a difference,” Hermione said, indignantly. “I’ve got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.”

“Cheers,” Draco said, taking a glass of some fizzy drink that tasted faintly of lemon from a nearby table and taking a sip. “You’re more noble than I am. If I had information like that about an ex of mine and he’d been such a jerk to me, I’d use it to destroy him.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Harry frowned at him.

“I’m a Slytherin,” Draco argued, raising his eyebrows. “You just haven’t experienced my pettiness yet.”

“I’ve experienced your loyalty, though,” Harry countered. “If you had any affection left for that person, you wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. They must have  _ really  _ screwed up for you to lash out like that.”

“Oh,” Draco said, pointedly. “And you think Weasley hasn’t?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, frowning at him. Then he shook his head. Draco sighed, taking another sip of his drink.

“You’re more forgiving than I am, then,” Draco shrugged.

“Oh, no,” Hermione moaned suddenly, interrupting their discussion and ducking out from between them. “Here he comes!”

She was gone and across the room faster than they could comprehend what was happening, and when McLaggen reached their little corner, Draco had quite honestly lost sight of her.

“Seen Hermione?” McLaggen addressed Harry, quite obviously ignoring Draco, and if anything, it seemed to endear him even less to Harry, because his voice and face were both stony when he answered.

“No, sorry,” he shrugged, before turning quite pointedly back to Draco and engaging him into a conversation about Quidditch. Draco was happy to indulge him, and soon, they were all wrapped up in their little world, their discussion moving from Quidditch to school to the people at the party and everything that popped into their heads. They never stopped talking, and there was never a dull moment. Harry’s attention was on him completely, and Draco felt heady with it. He was not used to not having to share Harry. Usually, their moments alone together were numbered and served a purpose. They rarely did this, just being with each other for the sake of it, without Hermione or Weasley or even Ginny or anyone butting in and demanding to be let into their talk. Draco wished it could always be like this, but he knew that it was unrealistic and selfish. After all, he, too, loved their other friends, and especially recently he had become more open to sharing himself with people that were not Harry and Hermione. 

But this, being alone with Harry and being the sole focus of those marvellous green eyes, this was something else entirely, and it made him long for  _ more. _

But the incredible thing was that Draco was actually starting to  _ hope _ for more. Because the way Harry was looking at him, smiling at him, occasionally leaning into his side or touching his arm… He was doing it  _ deliberately.  _ There was definite affection there, of romantic nature, and Draco  _ knew  _ he wasn’t imagining this. He had been pining for Harry for  _ years _ , for Merlin’s sake, he knew what obliviousness looked like on Harry, and that was not it. 

Draco was tempted to reach out for him right here and there, in the middle of this goddamned crowd and kiss him the way he’d always fantasised. But he didn’t. Because this, this  _ thing _ between them, whatever it was, was fresh and fragile and Draco wasn’t going to push. Because he was no idiot - he was more invested in this than Harry was, and jumping his bones would probably scare him off. So, no. He was going to wait for Harry to figure out what to do with his feelings and only then, when it was obvious that they were on the same page about this, would Draco try to move it along. 

He had waited this long to come this far. He could wait a little longer. And having Harry smile at him like this, knowing that there was a little more than friendship involved, was more than enough for now. 

When they eventually left the party, Draco’s mind was buzzing with the knowledge of what was passing between them, and he couldn’t stop smiling. It was a little ridiculous. 

“Thanks again for coming with me tonight,” Harry told him, redundantly, as they approached the Entrance Hall, where they were to part ways for the night. “I really had an amazing time.”

“High praise, considering the fact that it was  _ Slughorn’s party,” _ Draco teased, but when Harry flushed, his smile gentled. “I had a great time, too,” he admitted. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Harry gave a half shrug in response and glanced at him, green eyes holding his grey ones. They didn’t say anything for a long moment, just walking, and then coming to a reluctant halt at the end of the staircase. 

“Alright, then,” Draco muttered, still holding Harry gaze. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Harry nodded. He did not move, though. Draco hesitated, not sure what to do. He knew what he  _ wanted  _ to do, and Salazar knew the tension between them was thick enough to be interpreted in that direction, but he had just sworn himself to wait, and -

There was loud laughter from down the corridor, and Draco jerked, taking a step forward without thinking about it. Harry blinking and looked a little bereft, frowning after Draco.

“Yeah,” Draco said, laughing awkwardly. “Goodnight. Sleep well.” And with that, he forced himself to walk down the stairs to the dungeons, all the way berating himself. 

When he glanced over his shoulder halfway down, Harry was still standing where he had left him, staring after him. 


	7. To Jump Or Not To Jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, and with more tension between our favourite boys. Also, a little cameo by Tonks and Lupin, because it's been a while :) Please enjoy!

They all went home for the holidays the next morning, their travelling arrangements slightly more awkward than usual, due to the circumstances. Draco was sharing a compartment with Hermione, far away from where they had seen Harry and Weasley board the train at Hogsmeade station. For the first part of the ride, Hermione ranted at him about Weasley, McLaggen, Brown and then Weasley again, before finally, she turned her shrewd eyes on Draco and he knew the interrogation was going to start.

“So,” she said in a would-be-casual tone. “You and Harry seemed cozy last night.” Draco cleared his throat and looked out of the window, as an excuse to not have to look at her. “You’ll have to tell me what happened eventually, Draco,” she deadpanned. “I _will_ find out.”

“Nothing much happened,” Draco admitted, honest. 

“Draco, I was _there,_ ” Hermione pointed out, raising her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with his reply. “I saw you flirting from across the room!”

“Yeah, alright,” Draco conceded. “Okay. So that happened.”

“Glad you’re not trying to deny it.”

“I’m not thick, Hermione!”

“You had me wondering.”

Draco glared at her. Hermione smiled, a little too innocently.

“So,” she asked, biting her lip. “Nothing else happened? I thought maybe, he’d end up kissing you once you’d left the party. The way he looked at you…”

Draco flushed and now he wanted to kick himself. Merlin's soddy pants. 

“I think he might have,” he admitted, his voice strained. “There was a moment… but we got interrupted, and I chickened out.”

“What?!” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “Draco!” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Draco moaned. “I just heard someone and suddenly my body was moving away!”

“You’re an idiot!” Hermione rolled her eyes, looking at him with despair. “Why can’t you just accept good things when they happen to you?!”

“I’m trying!” Draco protested. “It’s not like I’m willfully sabotaging myself!”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” Hermione grumbles, shaking her head. “Well, you have Christmas hols in close quarters with him now. I know you live at your aunt’s place and he’s at the Weasleys’, but we all know you’ll see each other constantly, so you’d better make the most of it. I want to hear no more stories of failed kisses when we next see each other!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Draco muttered, smiling a little when Hermione grinned at him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she told him fondly. “Both of you. I cannot wait for you to finally get over yourselves and become an item.”

Draco bit his lip to reign in his smile, but he feared that it was a hopeless endeavour. 

Hermione had been right in saying that Draco was going to hang around the Burrow constantly, though this did not mean that Harry and he did have a lot of alone-time. When Weasley wasn’t around, Ginny searched his company as a shield from ‘Phlegm’ (her loving nickname for her future sister-in-law), or Mrs Weasley was fussing over them all. Though Harry did not cease looking at him in that new, exhilarating mix of heat and tenderness that made goosebumps break out over Draco’s skin underneath his warm clothing, so Draco knew that nothing was lost in any way or form yet. On the contrary. He could feel things building between them, bit by bit, with each shared glance, smile and touch. 

Not everything was jolly-well throughout this Christmas season, though. If anything, his cousin Dora’s condition had worsened. Where she had made an effort to communicate with her family over the summer, she had now withdrawn completely, and it took Draco a couple of days to find the courage to even approach her, only to get completely shot down. 

She did not accompany Draco to the Burrow on Christmas Eve even though she, too, was invited. Draco thought, though, as he arrived at the crowded Burrow around dinnertime, that maybe, it was better this way. The house was so crowded and noisy that a depressed Dora would have probably felt terribly overwhelmed. 

“Draco!” Ginny called as she caught sight of him, hooking her arm through his and leading him further into the house, past the twins, who were currently needling a very red-faced Weasley. “I told them about Lavender,” Ginny smirked, her eyes dancing in mirth. “Payback is a bitch.”

Draco laughed, shaking his head.

“You should have been sorted Slytherin. I rest my case.”

“Whatever you say,” Ginny shrugged. “Ah, look, there are Harry and Lupin!” 

They joined Harry and Draco’s former favourite teacher in a far corner of the living room, deep in conversation, though Ginny was almost immediately called into the kitchen by her mother. Harry’s eyes lightened up when Draco sat next to him, nudging his shoulder, and they exchanged a soft smile before Draco turned to greet Lupin.

“How have you been?” he asked, critically scanning the way the man's cheeks seemed to have caved in since the last time he had seen him, and his skin appeared so pale it had a greyish tint. 

“Well,” Lupin said airily, giving him a hollow smile. “I’ve been better.”

“I can see that,” Draco frowned. “What’s going on? Is Dumbledore sending you on taxing missions?”

“I’ve been living amongst my kind, Draco,” Lupin sighed, making his former student flinch. “I guess you can imagine that it hasn’t exactly been pleasant.”

“So you’ve been spying?” Draco asked, gulping.

“Yes,” Lupin smiled bitterly. “As I just told Harry, most of them are on Voldemort’s side.”

“I figured,” Draco muttered, frowning at him. “Is it safe, for you? I mean, your connections to Dumbledore are well-known.”

“Oh, I played up some anger about losing my job at Hogwarts,” Lupin shrugged. “It’s not as difficult as you think. Most werewolves think they are mistreated by society at large. That’s why they turn to Voldemort. In hopes of a better future for them.”

“Well,” Draco conceded, rather bitterly. “It’s not like you can really blame them, seeing how the Wizarding Society _is_ currently treating them. We are fucking prejudiced.”

“Yes, but they are terribly misled in thinking things will be easier under Voldemort’s reign,” Lupin rolled his eyes. “Also, I commend your sense of social justice, Draco, but some of these people… They don’t deserve your pity.” His eyes grew hard then, and after a moment, he told them, in a very different kind of voice: “I found the werewolf who turned me, for example.”

“You did?” Harry asked, perking up next to Draco.

“Yes,” Lupin nodded. “Fenrir Greyback.”

Draco drew in a sharp breath, recognising the name immediately, from the news and whispers amongst his parents. Harry, though, looked at them blankly. 

“Who’s Greyback?” he asked.

“You haven’t heard of him?” Lupin raised his eyebrows, showing his surprise. “Greyback is perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. He specialises in children… bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards.”

“I heard that Voldemort was using him to threaten people into obedience, so I knew he was working for him,” Draco muttered, feeling sick.

“Yes,” Lupin confirmed, his voice rough. “Voldemort offers him prey in return for his services. He threatens to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.”

Draco could see it. His fingers twisted in his own trousers, knuckles white with tension. 

“It appears my father offended him,” Lupin proceeded to tell them, his eyes far away. “And that’s why he went after me. For revenge.”

“That’s sick,” Harry muttered.

“I used to pity the wolf who’d bitten me,” Lupin continued, not acknowledging Harry’s words. “I thought he’d had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all.”

There was a long silence between them. After a moment, though, Lupin smiled tiredly at them and caught Draco’s gaze again.

“So, what have you been up to?” Lupin asked. “I heard from Harry that you’re both Quidditch captains now, and I know that last year, you were made Prefect. An excellent choice, if you ask me. I’d say you’re probably on your best way to Head Boy.”

Draco grinned, shaking his head. “Come on, with a father in Azkaban?” Draco deadpanned, raising his eyebrows. “And a best friend who causes destruction wherever he treats?”

“Hey!” Harry called, indignantly, making Lupin chuckle.

“We all know Dumbledore doesn’t care about these things,” Lupin told him pointedly. “As long as you and Hermione remain top of the year, I’m sure you’ll be the best available candidates. Not to mention the strong message it would send to have a Slytherin Head Boy with a convicted Death Eater father who turned his back and changed sides.”

“I’ve heard something along those lines before,” Draco muttered, making Lupin smile at him fondly.

“You’ve got influence, Draco,” Lupin told him, not unkindly. “The sooner you accept that, the better it is for our side during the war.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he chose to remain silent. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley chose that moment to call them into the kitchen for dinner.

Dinner was a loud and cheerful affair with everyone talking over each other and fighting for the food, and Draco found himself grinning all throughout it, and not only because Harry had chosen the seat next to him and kept throwing secret glances at him that he obviously thought Draco hadn’t caught on to. 

Afterwards, they retired back to the living room for a nightcap and Mrs Weasley put on one of Celestina Warbeck’s annual Christmas concerts on the wireless, making Draco cringe inwardly, though at least he was polite enough to keep his displeasure to himself, unlike Fleur.

For a while, Draco and Harry chatted a little more with Professor Lupin, and then with Ginny, who had come to vent off her frustrations about Fleur and her brother, and then, quite suddenly, they found themselves alone on the couch, the rest of the family across the room in little groups, not paying any attention to them. 

“Well,” Draco murmured, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, and Harry smiled at him tentatively. “This has been a much more cheerful Christmas Eve than last year.”

“You can say that again,” Harry grinned. “It’s nice to have you nearby like this, you know. I could really get used to it.”

“I know,” Draco chuckled. “After all these years of being stuck at the Manor, away from all the fun, it seems almost surreal that I can just pop in and see you anytime I want. It’s even easier than at Hogwarts because there’s no restriction on common rooms.”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, and it looked a little longing to Draco. He leaned sideways into him, his warmth bleeding into Draco’s side as he muttered: “I wished it were always like this.”

Draco’s throat dried up a little, and he closed his eyes, willing his racing heart to calm down, in vain. Harry’s body against his felt both agonisingly teasing as well as overwhelmingly good. He wanted to lean further into it, wanted Harry to wrap himself around him like a blanket and swallow him up in that heat. 

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hold back anymore? At least not as absolutely as he had done all this time?

Slowly, tentatively, Draco lowered his head sideways, until it rested on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tensed at the contact, and Draco gulped but he didn’t move. Neither did he open his eyes, too terrified to see Harry’s expression.

After a few beats, though, Harry relaxed again, and then, he leaned his head against Draco’s in a demonstration of yet unprecedented intimacy. Draco’s heart soared. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been this close before, or even closer, for that matter, but usually, they did it for a reason, mostly to comfort each other. This, though, was different. This was enjoying each other’s nearness just for the sake of it, and Draco felt like he was going to implode with sheer happiness.

They jumped apart when the concert ended and Fleur asked: “Eez eet over? Thank goodness, what an ‘orrible -”

Mr Weasley quickly leapt up to interrupt her before she could infuriate Mrs Weasley more, and Draco and Harry exchanged a sheepish smile, both flushed and embarrassed.

As Draco bade his goodbyes to everyone and got ready to floo back to his aunt’s, Ginny pulled him into a tight hug and muttered: “I saw you snuggling with Harry back there. Damn, Draco. Finally!!”

Draco grinned as he pulled away, thinking he’d already got his best Christmas present before the morning arrived.

Draco spent Christmas Day with his own family. It was quite a different holiday than he was used to at the Manor - Andromeda prepared a lovely meal, with the tentative help of her sister, who was rather a beginner at cooking, and they all gathered around the kitchen table and had lively conversations, almost reminiscent of the Burrow, only less chaotic. 

The only one who was so obviously not feeling the Christmas spirit that it was painful to watch was Dora, so when Andromeda and his mother were taking care of the dishes and Ted was preparing some eggnog for everyone, Draco slipped out onto the terrace after his cousin.

Dora was leaning against the wall next to the back door, arms slung around herself to fend off the cold, staring off into space. She looked so miserable that it clawed at Draco’s heart.

“Hey,” Draco sighed, positioning himself against the wall next to her, awkwardly kicking the frozen ground. “Not in the mood for Christmas?”

“Nope,” Dora said, puffing out the ‘p’ in a way that made her point somehow even more vehement. She chewed her lip and there was a moment of silence between them before she asked: “How was the Burrow?”

“Nice,” Draco replied, quite honestly. “They missed you, though. Mrs Weasley asked about you.”

“I wouldn’t have been good company,” Dora shrugged, but she was frowning. Then she asked, very hesitantly: “Who was there?”

“Well, most of the Weasleys safe Percy plus Fleur, Harry and Lupin.”

“Remus?” she asked, very softly, and something about her tone caught Draco’s attention. “Did you speak to him?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, watching her closely. Her face was guarded, but there was something in her eyes, something that Draco was far too familiar with. “He told us about his mission. It seems like he isn’t having much of a good time.”

“Well, that’s to be expected,” she breathed. “This is no life for him.”

“It’s not,” Draco agreed. He was still watching her, and then he asked, very gently: “You like him, don’t you?”

“Pardon?” she asked, looking alarmed. “What gave you-”

“You have been distant and non-committal ever since I returned, and here I mention Lupin and you start showing interest? It’s not Arithmancy, Dora.” She was silent for a long moment, looking so utterly miserable that it tore at Draco’s heart. “Have you told him?” he asked.

“Of course I’ve told him!” she burst out angrily. “I’ve told him again and again! He’s the one who insists that he’s no good for me! That he’s too old, too dangerous, too _whatever!_ Like I’d _care!”_

“Oh,” Draco muttered, a little taken aback. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s just,” Dora groaned, rubbing at her eyes, and Draco saw, with some alarm, that they were glistening with tears she was desperately trying to hold back. “I’ve _tried ,_ you know. Tried to forget about him. I just _can’t._ He’s the one for me.”

Chest tight, Draco’s eyes were drawn up towards the dark night sky, and he let out a deep sigh.

“I think that’s a family curse,” Draco murmured. “Our kind tends to fall for one person and one person only, no matter how stupid of a choice they might be, and then we carry this love through our whole life. I mean, look at Andromeda. Look at Mother.” _Look at me._ He did not say the words, but apparently, they hung in the air, loud enough for Dora to hear because she turned to look at him, a frown on her face. 

“So,” she prodded, “who are you arse over tits for?”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “Interesting choice of words,” he noted. Dora just raised her eyebrows. He sighed, contemplated, and then chose to be honest. “Harry?”

Dora whistled. “Well,” she commented. “I thought my heart had a death wish, but yours takes the cake.”

“Thanks?” Draco said, grimacing. 

“Crap, that sounded - I didn’t mean it like that. If anything, I think your chances with Harry are a thousand times better than mine with Remus. Harry seems to really care for you, and he’s only half as stubborn as Remus, I think. Though, to be fair, I don’t know Harry as well. What I meant to say is -”

“Dora,” Draco interrupted her rambling with a smile. “I know. Harry’s the Dark Lord’s Most Wanted. I realise that falling for him wasn’t my most self-preserving move.”

“Well,” Dora offered, her smile weak, “as long as you know?” Draco snorted. “Have you ever told him?” she asked, repeating his own question back to him. 

“Not yet,” Draco admitted. “Until recently, I was very sure my feelings were one-sided.”

“But that changed?” Dora inquired, a small smile on her face.

“Yes,” Draco smiled, biting his lip. “I think it has.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Dora nodded. “You should go for it. Enjoy the here and now. Things might be difficult in the future, but those feelings you have for each other shouldn’t go to waste. You might regret it.”

Draco nodded, fully aware that she was now as well talking to herself, and, despite his absence, to Lupin. 

When he next visited the Burrow, it was to hear that Percy had made an appearance at Christmas morning with the bloody Minister of Magic in tow, who had promptly taken the invented pretext to invite Harry in a private conversation to become the Ministry’s new poster boy. As Harry told Draco about it, up at Weasley’s too orange room while Weasley was having a loud fight in the corridor with Ginny, it was all Draco could do to not take his anger out on Weasley’s belongings. 

“What does he mean, it doesn’t _matter_ whether you’re the Chosen One or not?!” Draco hissed, his knuckles white as he clutched the pillow Harry used for sleeping, which he had been hugging when Harry had started talking. “It matters a great deal if you’re _fighting to the death!”_

“Well, not to him, as long as I give the people hope and tell them what a great job the Ministry is doing,” Harry rolled his eyes, but he was reaching out for Draco’s hand, gently unclenching Draco’s fingers. They were shaking as he let go of the pillow, dropping it into his lap. 

“Oh, how nice for him,” Draco sniped. “Good on him, being able to just _not care.”_

“Hey,” Harry said softly, frowning at him. His hands had caught both of Draco’s now, and he was holding them gently, his steadiness willing Draco’s fingers to stop trembling. “It’s going to be fine, Draco.”

Draco knew that they weren’t talking about Scrimgeour anymore then, and he closed his eyes, trying to take even, calming breaths. Sometimes, the fear of losing Harry still threatened to pull him under if he let it. He only opened his eyes when Harry lifted his left hand to his mouth and kissed Draco’s fingers, ever so tenderly. 

Their eyes met, and those green orbs were blazing with unvoiced emotion so strong that it had Draco choking on his own heartbeat. They sat like that for a long moment, and then, there were loud footsteps from the corridor, and Harry’s eyes widened. He dropped Draco’s hands and flushed, breaking their eye contact. 

“Blimey, Ginny’s a menace!” Weasley snapped as he stomped into the room like the neanderthal that he was, completely unaware of the tension between them. 

“You’re a menace,” Draco muttered, under his breath, but he took the opportunity to get to his feet. Weasley’s presence was usually his cue to go elsewhere. Harry looked a little lost as he realised that very same thing, and Draco sent him an apologetic smile as he backed out of the door.

He made his way down to Ginny’s room, knocking perfunctionally before letting himself in. Ginny was fury-cleaning her room, the content of her shelf scattered all over the floor, and Draco dodged all of her nicknacks to get to the bed and drop down on it with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh dear,” she said, looking him up and down with a smile from where she was dusting off the empty shelf. “What’s up with you?”

“Can you die from the sheer amount of your _feelings?”_ Draco asked her, and he might have even whined a little towards the end of the question, though he would not admit it outside of this room.

“Oh, sweetie,” she chuckled, fond now as she carefully made her way over to him, almost stepping onto a miniature unicorn, and sat on the bed with him. “Normally, I would say you can’t, but with you and Harry, I won’t rule anything out.”

“We had another moment,” Draco muttered, staring at her blessedly white wall, after the atrocity of her brother’s room. “And then your git of a brother walked in.”

“One day, I _am_ going to murder him,” Ginny noted, her eyes narrowed. “It will be entirely justified.”

“I might get there first.”

“That would save me the problematic discussion with my parents later.”

Draco snorted and Ginny reached out to brush his fringe from his face. 

“You need to stop dancing around each other,” she said, more seriously. “It’s getting ridiculous, Draco. No. It’s been ridiculous for about a year. We need a new word now. A word that hasn’t been invented yet.”

“I’m trying,” Draco muttered. “But I can’t just grab him and kiss him!”

“And why the bloody hell not?” Ginny demanded. 

“Because!” Draco called.

“Because you’re a repressed pureblood, that’s why,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t really blame you. We’ve had your mother over, and she’s a nice woman and all, but while she’s affectionate with you, she’s not really warm-blooded. I can’t imagine your parents being lovey-dovey in front of you.”

“Of course they weren’t!” Draco called, appalled at the image. “That would have been strange!”

“See!” Ginny said, pointing at his face. “You’re totally repressed! I bet you’ve also beat yourself up over liking a boy at the beginning, thinking it was unnatural.” When Draco didn’t answer, she sighed, pinching his cheek. “Oh, Draco,” she crooned. “You’re too pure for this world.”

“Shut up,” Draco groaned, elbowing her so she’d stop. “I had a complicated childhood. We can all be glad I’m so well-balanced, all in all.”

“No kidding,” Ginny agreed, and she sounded actually sincere. “But honestly, stop beating yourself up. You like Harry. He likes you. There’s nothing complicated about it. Just go for it!”

Draco didn’t answer, thinking that it was easy for her to say when she didn’t feel what he felt. 

Harry and him were too important. There was no room for mistakes. He didn’t want to mess anything up. Maybe she and Dean could just jump and see where they landed, but there was more at stake for him and Harry, and that was terrifying him. 


	8. Just a Little Bit of Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter and with Harry and Draco navigating their budding relationship :) I hope you'll enjoy reading about their awkward attempts as much as I enjoy writing them. Looking forward to your thoughts on their progress!! I had one heck of a week and could really use to hear from all of you :)

“So, you want to tell me that after two weeks of seeing each other constantly over the holidays, you still haven’t managed to sneak a kiss?” Hermione told him sternly, fixing him with an expression of disappointment rivalling Professor McGonagall on her best days across the Gryffindor table the first morning after returning to school for the new year. 

Draco shushed her halfheartedly, though they were taking their breakfast early to catch up and none of their other friends were present yet, so there was no danger of being overheard. 

“It just never worked out, okay,” Draco muttered, not meeting her eyes. “It wasn’t for lack of  _ trying _ , I assure you.”

“You two are impossible,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “I’m so close to locking you into a broom cupboard to get it over with.”

“That’s too cliché for you,” Draco teased. “You would never be that unimaginative.”

Hermione glowered at him, and Draco decided not to try her patience. Instead, he decided to deflect.

“Have you seen the notices this morning?” he asked. “Apparition lessons?”

“I did,” Hermione nodded, her eyes lighting up in interest, and Draco knew his ruse had worked. “I’m so excited about those! I’ve been waiting to learn how to apparate! It seems terribly useful!”

“Definitely,” Draco agreed. “I mean, the Floo Network is nice as it goes, but it  _ is _ a little restrictive, and hard to use unnoticed. Apparition will be a necessary skill in the upcoming war. We’ll need to work hard.”

“I guess you’re right,” Hermione nodded, frowning. “It’s supposed to be pretty hard, though.”

“I think they mostly say that to scare you,” Draco rolled his eyes. “If it were indeed so hard, there wouldn’t be so many people with a license. I think the problem is more that it’s dangerous if done wrong.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully but didn’t answer because, at that moment, Harry and Weasley entered the Great Hall. He could tell the exact instant she noticed them because she flushed and started shoving food into her mouth. Draco suppressed a sigh. So the two weeks separation had done nothing to make her forget about Weasley, after all. 

On his second night back, Harry was already called to Dumbledore’s office for their first Dark Lord history lesson of the new year. Harry picked Hermione and Draco up from the Gryffindor table the next morning for a walk across the snow-covered school grounds to fill them in on everything new he had discovered, which had become, perhaps predictably, more and more gruesome. Maybe, with his own family situation, the murder of his grandfather Marvolo Gaunt and the fact that he had framed his uncle Morphin for the crime shouldn’t even have made Draco feel as shivery to hear about. After all, his own father and aunt were currently safely locked away at Azkaban, and he would never hesitate to remind anyone that they had more than deserved their fate. Therefore, he was far from the picture-perfect pureblood he had been raised to be. Family bonds, while still important to him, did not stand over everything else. Still, though, hearing the way the Dark Lord had cold-bloodedly played his family for his own purposes, be it revenge or a deeper motive, left Draco feeling sick to the stomach. 

“Dumbledore showed me another memory after,” Harry told them once he had run them through the basic points of the Gaunt case. It was clear that Harry wanted to  _ really _ speak about that next memory with them. “It was provided by Slughorn.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, perking up. “Slughorn taught Voldemort as a boy?”

“He did,” Harry confirmed, frowning. “And apparently, he took quite a liking to him. Though Dumbledore assured me that wasn’t unusual throughout his school days. Most teachers adored him, it seems.”

“Either he was terribly charming, or all the teachers were fools,” Draco noted, raising his eyebrows. “Looking at Slughorn, I’m leaning towards the second option.”

Harry snorted, but Hermione frowned at him. 

“We know that Voldemort is incredibly smart, Draco,” she admonished. “I’m sure he knew exactly how to sweet-talk the teachers into doing what he wanted. Into  _ believing _ what he needed them to believe.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry sighed. “It looks like he got what he wanted from Slughorn, but he won’t admit to it. Because he meddled with the memory he gave Dumbledore.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“Yup,” Harry confirmed grimly. “The memory shows a meeting of the Slug Club throughout Voldemort’s school days, and he was present -”

“Wow, doesn’t that make you proud to be a chosen member,” Draco deadpanned, and he received a glare from Hermione for his efforts. 

“- and he lingered behind to speak to Slughorn afterwards,” Harry continued, paying Draco’s words no mind. “And he asked him what he knew about Horcruxes.”

Draco froze in recognition of the word, the implications of that question spinning in his mind. Hermione, on the other hand, blinked at Harry in confusion. 

“And what did he say?”

“That’s where the memory started becoming fishy,” Harry shrugged. “He said he didn’t know anything about Horcruxes and wouldn’t tell him if he did. But it was obvious that the statement had been added later.”

“He must be determined to hide what really happened if he went through such lengths to hide it…” Hermione frowned, pursing her lips. 

“And for good reason,” Draco noted, his voice uncharacteristically thin, causing both his friends to turn and look at him. “If he really gave the Dark Lord the information to -  _ bloody hell.” _

“What?” Harry asked, staring at him, at the same moment as Hermione asked, a little more sharply: “Do you know what Horcruxes are?”

“I do,” Draco confirmed. “I came across them in my readings at the Manor. When I was researching alchemic phenomenons. It’s… really dark stuff. But it would explain a lot about how the Dark Lord is still alive after everything that’s happened.” Draco took an unsteady breath, feeling like he was going to faint.  _ “Blimey.” _

“Draco,” Harry said, his voice rather more gentle than the situation called for, and then, both his hands were on Draco’s shoulders, and he forced him to stop walking and look at him. “You’re doing that thing again, where your brain is five steps ahead of everyone else and you’re freaking out all by yourself. Catch us up. What do Horcruxes do?”

“They are parts of your soul,” Draco said, his voice frail and cracking at the last word. “You split your soul into two pieces through murder, so that you can’t die when you’re killed. The other part of your soul will stay unharmed and keep you alive. Or, well,” Draco gulped. “‘Unharmed’ is the wrong word. Because you’ll be mutilating your soul once you tear it apart. You’ll never be the same.”

“What happens to the other part of your soul?” Hermione asked, her voice barely above your whisper. “Does it just… float around space, or…?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “You bind it to an object or a living thing.” 

“Like a ring?” Harry asked, blinking. 

“Yes,” Draco frowned, scanning his face. “Why?”

“Voldemort stole a ring from his grandfather,” Harry told him. “And now, Dumbledore has it. I saw it in his office.”

“Oh,” Draco said, rather weakly.

“So, this is it,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “Voldemort created a Horcrux.”

“Can it be destroyed?” Hermione asked, turning to Draco.

“How am I supposed to know!” Draco called defensively. “I only stumbled across the term! I never thought to research it further!”

“Well, we can do it now,” Hermione said, determined. “I can get permission to search the Restricted Section. Under some pretext, of course. No one will suspect a thing.”

“Dumbledore wants me to persuade Slughorn to give me the real memory,” Harry told them, blinking as if he was remembering just now. 

“Oh,” Hermione frowned, turning to him. “I think that’s going to be difficult, Harry, you have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…”

“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon…” Harry muttered. 

Draco rolled his eyes at Weasley’s unqualified advice, but Hermione, maybe predictably, freaked.

“Oh, well, if  _ Won-Won  _ thinks that, you’d better do it,” she called, glaring, her face flushed. “After all, when has  _ Won-Won’s  _ judgement ever been faulty?”

“Hermione, can’t you -”

_ “No!” _ she yelled, and off she went, leaving Harry and Draco in her wake.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry. “‘Won-Won’?” he asked.

“Lavender’s pet name for him,” Harry offered, his lip quirking.

“Honestly?” Draco sighed. “This boy really has no taste, does he? He thinks only with his prick.”

“Please,” Harry moaned, looking pained. “Don’t ever mention Ron’s prick in front of me again.”

Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. He sobered again quickly, though, when he remembered their previous conversation. 

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Bloody  _ Horcruxes.  _ As if I don’t have enough nightmares about this war.”

“I guess if we know what we’re up against, though, we can fight it,” Harry shrugged, sounding hopeful. “That’s something.”

“I guess,” Draco frowned. “Though before we can do that, we need information. And for that, you need Slughorn to spill. And as much as I know you love your dear Won-Won, I firmly advise against taking this lightly.”

“What do you think I should do, then?” Harry asked, looking at him pleadingly. 

“Hmm,” Draco frowned. “I’m not sure yet, actually. Maybe, for now, do nothing. Sweet-talk him a little in Potions today. Use that book of yours to brew up a great Potion and stay behind to chat a little, but mention nothing of that memory. Say yes if he invites you to one of those meetings of his. And then we’ll see.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very solid strategy,” Harry pointed out, a little sulky. 

“It’s called ‘laying the groundwork’,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Trust a Slytherin, for once. Cunning is my field, not yours.”

Surprisingly enough, Harry  _ did  _ trust him. The Potions class that afternoon seemed to ruin their plan, at first - they were applying Golpalott’s Third Law to create antidotes to common poisons, a drawn-out, menial and complicated process which the Half-Blood Prince’s book, at first glance, seemed to offer no useful shortcut for. Only in the last moment did Harry manage a rather brilliant save by procuring a Bezoar and offering it to Slughorn as an alternative solution, a bold move that earned him kudos with their teacher for its cheek. 

Hermione, quite predictably, was furious with him, while Draco was impressed with his resourcefulness. “You shouldn’t encourage him!” Hermione hissed as they walked out of the classroom together, leaving Harry to sweet-talk Slughorn, as agreed upon. “Your influence on him is far greater than anyone else's, and you just egg him on!”

“If you haven’t noticed,” Draco told her tersely, “We needed Slughorn in a good mood. He needs to eat out of Harry’s hand so he’ll hand over that damned memory. So please get off your high horse. I know it’s frustrating for you to not be top of the class, but there  _ are  _ things more important than your frail academic pride.”

Hermione flushed a bright scarlet at that and fell silent. They walked down the corridor without speaking and only when they had almost reached the Entrance Hall did Hermione ask, a little stiffly: “So, you and Harry already worked out a plan to get that memory?”

“Not as such,” Draco shrugged. “I told him to lay groundwork until we come up with something. I thought we might all get together and brainstorm later. But if you’re going to be all prickly, I might not invite you along.”

“Fine, I get it,” Hermione sighed, frowning. “I’ll behave myself.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Draco said pointedly. “After all, we have enough to worry about, don’t you think?”

Hermione conceded with a deep sigh and a nod. 

Harry, Hermione and Draco met up in some secluded corner of the library later that evening under the ruse of homework, discussing strategies to outwit Slughorn in muted voices. 

“I think the best thing is for me to try it the way Voldemort did it,” Harry told them. “I’ll just go to Slughorn’s next party and hang back after to chat. And then I’ll persuade him to tell me.”

Hermione, though, was frowning at him. “Don’t you think that might trigger some bad memories for him in return?” she argued. “I don’t know, Harry. I don’t think it will be that easy.”

“Then do you have a better idea?” he challenged.

“I don’t know,” Hermione frowned. “I just think you’ll have to get very lucky for it to work out like that.”

Draco stared at her, something about her choice of words setting his mind into movement.

“You’re right,” he breathed, blinking. “Harry needs to get  _ lucky.” _

“Pardon?” Harry frowned.

“The Felix Felicis!” Draco pointed out. “Take some before the party!”

“Oh,” Harry said, grimacing. He didn’t answer for a moment, then he muttered: “I dunno, Draco. I was sort of saving it…”

“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” Hermione admonished. Harry did not answer. Neither did he look at them. He just chewed on his lip until Hermione waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention again. “Harry?” she asked. “Are you still with us?”

“Wha-?” he snapped out of it, blinking rapidly and flushing. His eyes travelled to Draco once before resolutely settling on Hermione again. “Yeah, of course.”

_ Oh,  _ thought Draco, and willed himself not to blush as well. 

“I think Draco’s right, you know,” Hermione told Harry sternly. “It makes sense for you to use the potion for this occasion. It might help twist the circumstances in your favour.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, frowning again. “Fine. I’ll think about it, okay?”

Slughorn’s first party of the year took place the last weekend of January. Until about two hours before the actual event, when Draco last saw him, Harry was vague about the whole Felix Felicis deal, trying to find ways around it and driving Draco up the walls with it, until the Slytherin set down his foot and told him that if he didn’t take the Potion and he screwed it up, there would likely be no second chance, so he’d better know what he was bloody doing. 

He had no idea what Harry’s decision ended up being, and it made him feel more than a little anxious. To distract himself, he holed himself up in the library all night until Madam Pince tracked him down in his corner and stared him down with eagle’s eyes, silently throwing him out. 

Satchel full of checked-out books and arms full off notes he made his way down the dimly lit corridors, reaching the stairs that led towards the Entrance Hall. He’d just set his foot onto the first step when it slipped. 

_ Shit,  _ he thought, already seeing himself crashing down the whole way into the hard stone floor, before, quite unexpectedly, an arm slung around his waist, pulling him back against a firm chest and keeping him from falling. 

His notes went flying as Draco’s hands instinctively reached out for the body holding him, trying to steady himself. A familiar scent reached Draco’s nose, and his heartbeat picked up. 

“Harry?” he muttered, breathless. 

“Careful,” Harry told him, and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re not usually so clumsy.”

“I’m not,” Draco agreed, flushing both in embarrassment and from the proximity of the other boy. In this position, Harry was all but pressed up against him, his arm still wrapped around him. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“Maybe the castle was playing tricks on you,” Harry suggested. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Maybe,” Draco allowed, and with a steadying breath, he twisted in Harry’s embrace, turning to face him. 

He expected Harry to let go of him once Draco set about to move, but he didn’t. If anything, both arms now settled more firmly around his waist, as if afraid that with one wrong step, Draco would stumble backwards and down the steps. Green eyes met grey, and Draco found that he’d forgotten how to breathe. 

“So,” he brought out, clearing his throat. “How was the party?” 

“A success,” Harry smiled. “I got the memory. I was just on my way to tell you.”

“Oh,” Draco breathed, astonished. “That’s - that’s amazing, Harry! Congrats!”

“Thanks,” he smiled. “No trouble at all. And now that that’s done, I wanted to run something by you.”

“Oh?” Draco said, again, because apparently he was very eloquent tonight. “And what’s that?”

“The next Hogsmeade trip,” Harry replied, making Draco blink in confusion at the sudden turn of the conversation, “it’s on March 1st. Will you go with me?”

“We always go to Hogsmeade together, Harry,” Draco blurted out, uncomprehending. “Well, that is - if you’re not gonna hang out with Weasley. Wait, isn’t it his birthday that day?” Draco realised, his mind reeling.

“It is,” Harry confirmed, shrugging. “But he’ll be on a date with Lavender, anyway, so I can bloody well go on a date of my own.”

Draco opened his mouth but found he had no words. He closed it again, heat rushing his face.

“Kneazle’s got your tongue?” Harry teased, unexpectedly cheeky. 

“Did you just ask me out on a date?” Draco checked, only to be sure. “Like, properly?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed. “I think it was about time, wasn’t it?”

“Oh,” Draco said his voice high. “Um. Yeah. Maybe?”

Harry smiled, having the grace to patiently wait while Draco had his internal breakdown. 

“So?” he asked. “Do you want to go?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Yes, I really do.”

“Good,” Harry beamed. “That’s brilliant.”

And when Harry finally let go of him, Draco felt so unsteady that for a moment, he wondered if he was indeed going to tumble down the stairs. But Harry had already pulled out his wand and was summoning Draco’s spilt notes for him, so Draco did his best to get a grip of himself and his body. At least, he managed to make his arms work as Harry handed him the stack of papers, reaching for it and clinging to it like a lifeline. 

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, then,” Harry smiled, and before Draco knew what was happening, Harry had leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco’s cheek. 

It was really chaste, and over as soon as it had begun, but it left Draco completely stomped, and all he could do was stare after Harry uncomprehendingly as the other boy smirked at him and took off. Draco watched him all the way down the corridor, not moving, and only when Harry was out of sight did he lift the trembling fingers of his free hand to the cheek Harry had just kissed. 

Draco had no recollection of how he made it back to his dormitory, especially without falling flat on his face, but when he did, he went straight for the enchanted parchment he shared with Hermione, as well as quill and ink and threw himself onto the bed, drawing the curtains. 

_ ‘Harry asked me on a date to Hogsmeade in March. And he kissed me on the cheek. I can’t breathe. I think I’m going mad.’ _

He stared at his message, praying with all his might for Hermione to be awake and in sight of her own roll of parchment, but, thank Merlin, the answer came barely a minute later. 

_ ‘YES!!! FINALLY!!! ABOUT TIME OH MY GOD!!! I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU DRACO!!!’ _

_ ‘Wow, all caps and exclamation marks. You must be thrilled.’ _

_ ‘Shut it. I’d be screaming if you were here. When did this happen?’ _

_ ‘After your Slug Club. I was on my way to my common room from the library and suddenly, there he was. He wanted to tell me he got the memory, it seems.’ _

_ ‘He got the memory?!’ _

_ ‘Yup.’ _

_ ‘Thank Merlin. Looks like that Felix Felicis was not wasted.’ _

At that reply, Draco held in, the euphoria in him dimming a little. He had forgotten all about the potion. He chewed his lip and thought back on Harry’s behaviour, on the uncharacteristic confidence and his straight-forwardness, and suddenly felt very small.

_ ‘Do you think him asking me out was potion-induced?’ _

_ ‘Oh my god, Draco.’ _

_ ‘I mean, he wasn’t exactly acting like himself, Hermione. What if he didn’t mean it?’ _

_ ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, he means it! You two have been dancing around each other for months! He couldn’t be more obvious in liking you!  _ You,  _ until recently, had accepted the fact that he liked you, if I may remind you!’ _

_ ‘Yes, I know, I know. Still, he might not have actually wanted to ask me out. It doesn’t mean anything if he was drugged at the time.’ _

_ ‘You had an ‘O’ in your Potions O.W.L.s, Draco. You know as well as I do that Felix Felicis is not that kind of potion. Yes, it can make you feel euphoria and confidence, overly so if taken at large doses, but Harry took only a few drops. I watched him take it. It does not create feelings or desires that aren’t there. Most likely, Harry rode the high of getting that memory from Slughorn and used it to ask you out. There is nothing sinister about it. Don’t tell yourself otherwise.’ _

Draco took a deep, steadying breath, comforting himself with the solid facts Hermione was presenting him with. She was right. Felix Felicis wasn’t that kind of potion. This wasn’t Amortentia, after all. 

_ ‘You’re right,’  _ he answered, at last.  _ ‘Sorry. Old habits.’ _

_ ‘You’re impossible,’  _ she replied.  _ ‘I’ve never seen anyone as reluctant to be happy as you.’ _

Draco rolled his eyes, though he figured that, maybe, she had a point. 

_ ‘I’ll try not to freak out anymore,’  _ he promised. 

_ ‘You’d better not,’  _ Hermione returned, and he could practically see her scowl through the parchment.  _ ‘Or I’ll have to dose you with the remaining Felix Felicis until Harry snogged those doubts out of you.’  _

Draco snorted, shaking his head at the parchment. 

_ ‘How is this my life?’  _ he wrote, not really expecting an answer. 

_ ‘Stop overthinking, and for once, just enjoy.’ _

The next morning at breakfast, Harry sat with Weasley and carefully avoided looking in Draco’s direction. It made his scrambled eggs had awakened turn to bitter-tasting dust on his tongue.

“He’s regretting it,” he muttered to Hermione, horrified. “It was the potion speaking last night.”

Hermione’s answering expression was one of deep annoyance. 

“He  _ doesn’t _ regret it and the potion didn’t make him do  _ anything,” _ she snapped. “Stop freaking yourself out. He’s just embarrassed, knowing him.”

“He’s not even  _ looking _ at me,” Draco insisted. 

“Yes, because Harry can’t deal with emotions for the life of him,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly,  _ boys.  _ I swear to God.”

Draco bit his lip and threw a discreet look into Harry’s direction again. Weasley was animatedly talking at him about one thing or another, but Harry didn’t seem to be quite paying attention to him. He was idly moving his sausage from one side of the plate to the other without eating it. And then, quite unexpectedly, he looked up, meeting Draco’s gaze dead-on.

Both of them averted their eyes immediately. Draco felt his face heat up and cursed himself. 

“Merlin, stop acting pathetic,” Hermione hissed, having watched the scene through narrowed eyes. “This is ridiculous!”

“Hermione,” Draco muttered, through clenched teeth. “Please, for once in your life, just shut up.”

She looked at him disapprovingly but granted him the favour.

There was a Quidditch match that day, Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, and Draco had agreed to spend it at the Slytherin stands with his team and Hermione in tow. Hermione initially looked over her shoulder a lot, sensing the hostile stares from some of his housemates, but the welcoming attitude of his teammates soon distracted her from her reluctance. 

“You know,” Viola noted mildly as the stands began to fill around them. “We might well be the most unpopular Slytherin house team to ever exist. Blood traitors, fraternising with Gryffindors… It’s all quite scandalous, really.”

“Yeah, especially considering how successful we are,” Yatin grinned.

“Right,” Zoe snorted. “How dare we.”

Draco chuckled, biting his lip. They were indeed leading the house championship by a fair bit at the moment. After their victories against Gryffindor and Ravenclaw before the break, the other house teams had yet to catch up to them, and if Ravenclaw lost today, they were already well out of the race for the cup. 

Draco was drawn out of his thoughts when Ryan gasped rather dramatically in his ear, leaning in to speak to him from his position behind him. 

“It’s about to get more scandalous,” he stage-whispered. “The Boy Who Lived To Turn Heads has entered Slytherin territory. I repeat: We have the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain on the Slytherin stands.”

Draco blinked and looked up just in time to see Harry make his way down their row, eyes stubbornly cast down, ignoring the glares he got from virtually everyone but Draco’s group as he slowly pushed forward. Draco’s throat suddenly felt very dry. 

_ What in Salazar’s name was Harry doing here?! _

When Harry finally reached them, he squeezed in between Draco and Abbas, clearing his throat. Draco just stared at him incredulously.

“I was tired of playing fifth wheel to  _ Won Won _ and  _ Lav Lav _ ,” Harry shrugged, his lips twitching as he took in Draco’s expression. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Draco said quickly. “Of course not! I just - I didn’t expect you to follow me  _ here _ , of all places.”

“You sit with the Gryffindors all the time,” Harry shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I come to sit with you, for a change?”

Draco smiled at that, deciding not to point out all the obvious reasons why the reversed situation was quite more problematic and accepting it for the affectionate gesture it was. On his other side, he could feel Hermione radiating smugness.

The teams emerged from their dressing rooms, then, and noise exploded around them. For a while, they focused on the match, and Draco went back and forth between watching and diving into conversation with his teammates, discussing the weaknesses they could spot in the Hufflepuff players’ game. 

After a while, Harry leaned into his personal space, catching his attention. 

“Draco,” he said, just loud enough that he could understand what Harry was saying, but so low that it was sure to be lost in the noise of the crowd. “About last night…”

Draco gulped, not daring to look at Harry. “Yes?” he asked.

“I’m sorry if I was a little… forward,” Harry said, sounding uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t have acted this way if it wasn’t for the potion. I feel a little silly now.”

Draco gulped, his heart sinking. “Do you regret it?” Draco asked, trying to keep his voice level, relieved when Harry immediately shook his head and turned his face to catch his eyes. 

“Merlin, no,” he ensured him, sounding alarmed. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages! I thought you knew!”  Draco flushed. He gulped, unsure how to answer. He was grateful when Harry spoke first, saving him the embarrassment of stumbling over his words.  “No,” Harry shook his head, “I don’t regret it at all. I’m glad I finally asked you. Part of me still can’t believe you said yes.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at that. He gently elbowed him into the side. “I wasn’t ever going to refuse, idiot,” he told him fondly.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry smiled back, ever so tentatively, and Draco wondered if he was going to melt, right here on the stands. “Did you tell Hermione?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, blinking. “Shouldn’t I have?”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said quickly. “Just - I didn’t know how to tell Ron, and then I thought, maybe it’s better to keep it on the low, for now? At least until we actually go on that date. I mean, it’s still a couple of weeks.” Draco frowned, not quite sure what to say. “It’s just, people are always talking,” Harry muttered, a little desperate. “And I’d hate for them to get all in our business before we even figured ourselves out.”

Ravenclaw scored, catching the lead. Draco stared into the distance, trying to find an appropriate answer. 

“So you want to hide?” Draco checked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but there must have been something in his tone that alarmed Harry because he looked at him sharply.

“No,” he said, firmly. “I’m not hiding anything.” He scanned Draco’s face, and then added: “Don’t you dare think I’m ashamed or anything, alright? That’s not it. You should know me better than that.”

“Alright,” Draco muttered, gulping. He forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes as he spoke those next words. “It’s just… I’m done hiding what I feel. I’ve done that long enough.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and his fingers brushed Draco’s.

“I’m not asking you to,” he muttered. “I just… don’t want to flaunt it until we figured things out? This is all so new, and the thought of people getting all into our faces about it before we even went on our first date scares me. You’re too important to me to screw this up.”

Draco smiled at that, and he hooked his pinkie finger through Harry’s.

“Alright, then,” he agreed. “We’ll keep it on the low until Hogsmeade.”

“Thanks,” Harry breathed, and Draco saw his eyes wandering to his lips for a moment before he shook himself and directed his gaze back to the pitch, blinking rapidly.

Draco smiled, feeling warm in a way he had never felt before, despite the cold January weather. 


	9. Destination - Determination - Deliberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, and I'm going to leave it here without much of a comment other than that I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :)
> 
> On other news, though, I lost my Twitter account this month. I'm still trying to get it back, though Twitter hasn't reacted to my requests to return my account to me yet, but for now, my backup account is @TheHuffleLife. Please come and follow me there. I'm sorry for the inconvenience - I'm terribly angry at Twitter, seeing that I'm not aware of having done anything wrong. A friend suggested that it's likely someone reported me, which is of course terribly frustrating. I'll keep you posted on the progress.

February passed in a blur of classes and apparition lessons. They were taught Apparition on weekends by a Ministry-sent instructor called Mr Twicross, a terribly dull man who seemed to almost fade to nothingness in a room full of people, something that Draco and Harry had privately put down to too many Apparitions. That  _ couldn’t  _ be healthy for your body. One job off the list of possible future professions for sure.

The concept of Apparition seemed very vague at first, but Draco soon got the grip of it, slipping into it as he’d slipped into Occlumency and Legilimency. 

“It’s all about focus and mind control,” Draco shrugged at Harry after their second lesson, when he had first managed to successfully apparate into his loop across the room. “Make sure your mind is set on your destination, don’t let yourself be distracted -”

“Yes, yes, destination, determination, deliberation,” Harry recited, rolling his eyes, but he looked fond. “You are insufferable, you know?! How come you can do  _ everything?!” _

“I cannot!” Draco protested, laughing. 

“Can, too,” Harry snorted. “It would be frustrating if it weren’t you!”

“What are you two bickering about again?” Ginny chuckled, taking the seat next to Draco, quite surprisingly with Ryan in tow. 

“It’s called  _ flirting _ , Gin,” Hermione said slily, without looking up from her book. She, too, had managed to apparate today, but noticeably later than Draco, so he suspected she was a little sulky about it. 

“Pardon me,” Ginny rolled her eyes, and Ryan grinned like a Kneazle who had gotten the cream. “Didn’t want to intrude.”

“Very funny,” Draco deadpanned. “We were just talking about Apparition lessons.”

“Oh, right,” Ginny frowned, as if just remembering. “How did they go?”

“Draco and Hermione managed to apparate into their hoops,” Harry told her with a pointed look.

“You don’t say,” she mock-gasped.

“I know, right?” he nodded. “Such a  _ surprise _ .”

“I don’t know why we’re friends with you,” Draco complained. “You only bully us for being smarter than you, and then try to copy our homework.”

Harry laughed. Ginny, on the other hand, got to her feet. 

“I’m gonna go check on Dean,” she told them. “See you guys later!” And with that, she was making her way further down the Gryffindor table towards where her boyfriend was sitting with Finnigan and Longbottom. Draco noticed how Ryan stared after her. 

“So,” Draco addressed him, making his teammate turn to face him. “Fraternising with the enemy?”

“You’re one to talk,” he short back, and they smirked at each other. 

“I didn’t know you were so close,” Draco pointed out. “I mean, I knew you were talking, but I didn’t think you were hanging out.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan shrugged, glancing back down the table to where Thomas had now thrown an arm around Ginny, a strange look on his face. “It sort of happened?”

“Well, good on you,” Draco said, though inwardly, he wasn’t sure if congratulations were quite in order. He wasn’t blind. He could see the way Ryan’s eyes were following Ginny across the room. 

“Right,” Ryan said. “I’m gonna go find Yurika. Talk to you later.” 

Draco watched as he walked over to the Slytherin table, a frown on his face. 

“Okay,” Harry said, catching Draco’s attention, “what is it?”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, startling.

“You have that look on your face,” Harry said pointedly. “You’re all sullen and sober, which means something is on your mind. Spit it out.”

“Shut up,” Draco grinned. “I don’t have a face like that. I’m all blank. Like an empty page.”

“Sure you are,” Harry snorted. “Now tell me.”

Draco sighed, glancing down to where Ginny was sitting with Thomas. “I think Ryan likes Ginny,” he admitted. “Which sucks, since she’s with Thomas.”

“I see,” Harry grimaced.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Hermione said, alerting Draco to her continued presence, which he’d almost forgotten about. “I’m pretty sure Ginny likes him, too.”

“But she’s been with Thomas for months,” Draco pointed out, confused.

“Yes, but they’re not exactly happy,” Hermione shrugged. “I don’t think it’s going to last much longer. It’s definitely gotten worse since she started hanging out with Ryan.”

“Oh,” Draco frowned, biting his lip. “That’s not going to help Slytherin’s reputation amongst your housemates, is it?”

Hermione snorted, and Harry smiled. 

“It’s not Ryan’s fault if they break up,” Hermione said, without a trace of doubt. “Or rather,  _ when  _ they break up. I don’t think Ginny ever meant for it to last, really. She’s surprisingly casual, and Dean and she aren’t very well-suited. He’s very possessive, and she’s very free-spirited. I think she and Ryan might be a better fit.” 

“Well, for his sake, I hope you’re right,” Draco sighed. “I’d hate to see him pine.”

“It’s kind of amazing, though,” Harry said, watching Draco with a smile. “The other day, I saw your Keeper feeding the Thestrals with Luna -”

“Yurika?!” Draco asked, gaping. “ _ Salazar,  _ I’ll need to tease her about  _ that. _ ”

“- and I think the other day, I actually saw one of your Beaters in the library with Demelza Robins, my Chaser. And now Ginny and Ryan. It’s just. You do realise you’re spinning a network of inter-house friendships all over the place, don’t you?”

“I’m not the one doing it!” Draco frowned. “They’re doing it by themselves!”

“They’re not!” Harry argued. “ _ You  _ introduced them. Ginny is your friend, and Ryan is your friend, and now they hang out. Same with Luna and that Yurika girl.” Harry’s green eyes were bright as he smiled at him, focus solely on Draco. “You don’t even realise how much of an influence you have on people, do you?”

“I don’t consider myself as someone with any influence at all,” Draco replied, quite honestly. “I’m not you.”

“No,” Harry wrinkled his nose. “You’re better.”

Draco flushed, and, quite abruptly, Hermione slammed her book shut and got to her feet.

“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll read this somewhere else before I’m puking rainbows listening to you.”

An awkward silence fell upon them as she left, and they glanced at each other nervously.

“We’re not doing a great job at staying low-key,” Draco noted eventually. 

“Well,” Harry shrugged, a little helplessly. “Three more weeks?”

It became Draco’s mantra of sorts. Counting down the days until their Hogsmeade trip, and their date. Two more weeks… Two and a half… one and three days… five days… 

And then, the morning of their first date was finally upon them. Draco felt like he was going to come apart with nerves and excitement. Technically, he knew he had nothing to worry about - he liked Harry, and Harry liked him. The last couple of weeks had made that perfectly clear. But still, the mere thought of leaving behind the familiar safe ground of their friendship to step into the unsteady waters of  _ dating _ made Draco feel a little faint.

How did you ‘date’ your best friend? 

“By not making a big deal out of it,” Hermione told him with exaggerated patience that made him feel like he was three years old and she was his nanny. “It’s only going to be awkward if you let it become so, Draco.”

“Right,” Draco muttered, frowning. “Only when Harry dated Chang -”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to her!” she hissed. “You’ve known each other forever! They had nothing in common apart from Quidditch and Cedric Diggory.”

“Right,” Draco repeated, nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione soothed. “He’s been one step away from jumping your bones since at least December! There’s absolutely no reason why this date should end in a complete disaster.”

“You’re right,” Draco nodded, and just at that moment, Harry got to his feet at the other end of the Gryffindor table, bidding his goodbye to Weasley, Lavender and Patil before making his way over to them.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Hermione smiled, getting to her feet as well. “I promised to meet Neville and Luna. Have fun and don’t overthink, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Draco smiled and waved at her with her fork before dropping it to his plate, knowing he wouldn’t eat any more of his half-finished breakfast. “Thank you. Have a nice day!”

“You too!” she grinned, waving at Harry as he took the seat next to Draco and disappearing towards the door. 

“Hi,” Harry greeted him, a little hesitantly. “Are you ready?” 

“Sure,” Draco nodded, reaching out to take the last sip of his pumpkin juice just to cover his nerves. “So, where do you want to go?” he asked when he had swallowed.

“I was thinking -” Harry started, but he cut himself off when someone took the seat across from them, the one Hermione had just abandoned. 

Draco looked up, blinking at Patil’s smiling face.

“Hi?” he greeted her, confused.

“Hello Draco,” she grinned. “I was wondering if you wanted to come to Hogsmeade with me? Lavender and Ron are having a big date for his birthday, and I happen to find myself without a partner. Would you like to accompany me?” 

“Oh,” Draco muttered, feeling awkward. He could feel Harry’s tension from the seat next to him. “I’m sorry, but I’m going with Harry.”

“But you two always go together!” she protested, sulking a little. “I’m sure Harry will understand if you go out on a date of your own every now and then, won’t you, Harry?”

Draco was unsure what kind of reaction he had expected to Patil’s statement, but he still startled quite a lot when Harry’s possessive arm suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling the Slytherin demonstratively against the Gryffindor’s side. Harry’s body was warm and his scent familiar and Draco’s heart was pounding as he sat there, frozen, a unicorn caught at wandpoint. 

“When Draco says that he’s going with me,” Harry said, his voice hard, almost threatening. “He means we’re going  _ together.  _ So  _ yes _ , I mind very much if you’re trying to snatch away my date, Parvati.”

Draco felt hot all over, but his eyes were glued to Patil, who was staring at Harry uncomprehendingly. He could see the exact moment when her mind caught up with Harry’s words and her eyes widened, her cheeks reddening. 

_ “Oh,” _ she muttered, clearly flustered. “I hadn’t realised - I didn’t think -”

“Obviously,” Harry returned, his tone scathing. “Now, if you don’t mind -”

“Yes,” she nodded, quickly getting to her feet and stumbling backwards. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

And quickly as that, she was gone, though Harry didn’t let go of Draco. A slow smile slipped over Draco’s face, and he couldn’t help but glance at Harry’s sullen face. 

“What?” Harry asked, a little defensive. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not!” Draco promised. “I’m happy, you dolt!”

“Oh,” Harry blinked. He seemed confused about that statement. “You’re happy because I lashed out at Parvati?”

“I’m happy because you’re jealous,” Draco rolled his eyes, elbowing him fondly.

“Of course I’m jealous!” Harry said indignantly. “She’s been all over you since the term started! It’s irked me so much!”

“Well, welcome to my world,” Draco deadpanned, but he was still grinning. Harry just glowered at him half-heartedly, but he seemed to concede to his point because he did not fight it. “Okay, then,” Draco continued cheerfully. “Now that you’ve officially blown past ‘low-key’ and staked your claim, shall we get going?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, reluctantly letting go of Draco’s waist to allow him to get to his feet. “Let’s.”

Draco got up and pointedly held out his hand to help Harry up. Harry grinned, entwining their fingers. 

They did not let go until they got to Filch’s security check. 

Hermione had been completely right about Draco’s fears being unfounded. Nothing between them was awkward. They slipped into an easy conversation on their way to the village, and Harry soon tangled their fingers together once more, holding his hand as they discussed school, the Quidditch house championship, their friends, everything that came to their minds. 

“Don’t get too comfortable up there at the top,” Harry chuckled, squeezing Draco’s hand. “Once we’ve beaten Hufflepuff -”

“We still need to lose against Ravenclaw for you to even have a chance at the cup, Harry,” Draco laughed. “Admit it, our team is just that good this year!”

“You just won because you distracted me during our match!” Harry muttered.

“Excuse me?!” Draco demanded, laughing. “I did  _ nothing _ !”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry grumbled, flushing. “You were all up close, looking gorgeous and - nevermind.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco snorted, shaking his head. “All these years of being accused of not having my head in the game because of you, and now it’s  _ you _ who can’t focus!”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, flushed a dark colour, indicating that he was  _ really  _ embarrassed. “It was just that one time, and I had only just started figuring out that I liked you and - I still feel stupid about it, okay?”

Draco grinned, squeezing his hand. “You’re adorable,” he noted.

“And you’re a prat,” Harry griped, but there was no sting to it. “Fancy a drink?”

Draco blinked, noticing just now that they had entered Hogsmeade and were passing The Three Broomsticks, too engrossed in his conversation with Harry. 

“Sure,” he nodded, letting Harry pull him into the pub by his hand. 

They found a free table towards the back of the pub, and Madam Rosmerta happened to just be in the general area taking orders, so they quickly asked for two butterbeers. Their drinks came a couple of minutes later, and Draco took the first grateful gulp of the warm beverage, his throat a little dry from all the talking. 

“So,” he said as he put his glass down again. “Did you -”

But he did not come farther than that, because suddenly, Harry was all in his personal space, and lips were pressed against his. It was so abrupt that Draco needed a moment to understand what was happening. After all, he had never been kissed before, and especially not by _Harry_ , who he’d dreamed about for the past two years. But then, he started to register the softness of Harry’s lips, slightly wet from the butterbeer he had just taken a sip from, the taste still lingering. He was moving them tentatively against Draco’s, just a slight pressure, and Draco responded in kind, his eyes fluttering shut. Harry’s hand came to cup Draco’s cheek, and sparks seemed to erupt from that single point of contact. Draco leaned into it, feeling as if he was melting, his bones turned into liquid by some spell or another as Harry continued kissing him, his movements surer now, less hesitant. His lips parted a little, nipping as well as kissing, and Draco let his mouth fall open, too, allowing Harry to draw his bottom lip between his own. His tongue came out to trace it, taste it, and Draco gasped softly, his hands coming up to cling to Harry’s shoulders. 

The noises of the crowded pub disappeared. All that Draco took note of was Harry, their ragged breathing, the way he seemed to shuffle even closer to kiss him properly, and the beating of his own heart. When Harry eventually pulled away, Draco made a soft noise of protest, and Harry huffed a gentle laugh, smiling at him ever so softly.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Draco growled, pushing forward to connect their lips once more. 

Harry did not complain. Instead, he wrapped his free arm around Draco’s waist and slipped his other hand from his cheek into his hair, running gentle, exploratory fingers through it, probably messing it up beyond hope. Draco shivered, desperately trying to deepen their kiss. He knew he was clumsy and inexperienced, but Harry did not seem to mind, and when Draco parted his lips to trace Harry’s lips with his tongue, he readily opened them to allow Draco to brush their tongues together. 

Draco wondered if it was possible to die from the force of your own emotions. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there, just kissing. It could have been months, for all he knew, or barely minutes. Time seemed to become irrelevant compared to the taste and heat of Harry’s mouth, so it was only when someone cleared their throat pointedly right in front of them that they jumped apart. 

Panting for breath, flushed and wide-eyed, he blinked up at a familiar redhead who was grinning at them like Christmas had come early.

“Fred?” he gasped.

“Wow, right even in the aftermath of a snogging session,” Fred raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “You might need to share your secrets with Mum, mate. She still confuses us.”

“What are you even doing here?” Harry asked, his expression just as lost as Draco’s.

“Oh, we’ve been in Hogsmeade for business,” Fred shrugged. “Thinking about taking over Zonko’s. And since we’re already here, we thought we’d drop in on our dear brother for his birthday.” He gestured to a table across the pub where Weasley, George, Ginny and, much to Draco’s surprise, Hermione were gathered. “Why don’t you join us for a drink? I’ll also buy you a new one,” Fred smirked, nodding to their own abandoned pints and vanishing them with a wave of his wand. “I’m sure those are already cold.”

Harry and Draco exchanged an embarrassed look, before shrugging and following Fred towards their table. 

“Rosmerta, two more, please!” Fred called as he pulled up two more chairs for Harry and Draco to sit. Draco sneaked a glance around the table as the barmaid got their drinks ready: Weasley looked very sullen, and his ears were suspiciously scarlet, indicating that he was not there by choice. Hermione seemed uncomfortable as well, though she was clearly trying to hide it. Ginny, though, had a smug grin on her face that matched her twin brothers’, making Draco sink slightly back in his seat in mortification. 

“We’re quite the date crashers today,” George commented, cheerful and unconcerned. “This is the third one we broke up.”

“Well, that’s what you get for not sending an owl to warn us,” Ginny snorted.

“How were we to know that you’re all so sexually active these days,” Fred lamented, making his younger brother choke on the butterbeer he had just taken a gulp from. George good-naturedly clapped him onto the back. “Last year around this time, you were all busy trying to bring down the school administration, not charming each other’s pants off.”

“This was not a conversation I was planning to have with my brothers,” Ginny sighed, rather dramatically, and Draco couldn’t help but smile. 

“Well, too bad for you, then, Miss,” Fred shrugged. “Though at least, Dean was amenable when we stole you away. He did not make a scene like Ron’s flower of choice.”

“She had planned out the whole day for us,” Weasley muttered defensively, his flush rising to cover his whole face. “That’s why she got a bit -”

“Obnoxious?” supplied George.

“Insufferable?” suggested Fred.

“Resembling an actual fury?” George added, making Draco almost lose it. He masked his snort with a cough and took a quick sip from his newly served drink. Weasley glared into his direction. 

“I hate you,” he said finally, directed at his brothers. 

“Now, now,” Fred called, mock-wounded. “Is that the thanks we get for coming to see you?”

“Plus, we invited her along,” George noted. “It’s not our fault she was in such a strut she declined.”

“Anyway, you might want to reconsider your choices,” Fred told him in a confidential tone. “Your girl is too much work, if you ask me. Your taste is very questionable.”

“Yes,” George agreed. “Out of all of you, Harry and Draco are winning the dating game. By far.”

“Yes,” Fred turned back to the two of them, grinning as he did. “Now, when exactly did  _ that  _ happen? I’m dying to know.”

“Um,” Harry said, flashing Draco a look, who was still holding his pint in his hands and hid his grin behind it. “It’s sort of… new?”

“It’s so not,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’ve been dancing around each other for  _ months _ now!”

“They did  _ what  _ now?” Weasley asked, looking appalled. Both Ginny and Hermione sent him a pitying look. “Why didn’t you tell me, mate?” he asked, turning to Harry.

“Well,” Harry muttered, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know. Guess I didn’t want to jinx it. And it was only our first date earlier, so it’s not like there was much  _ to _ tell until today.”

“Or, to put it differently, Harry is a skirmish moron who can’t do feelings,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Maybe it’s a good thing you two are gay for each other. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Weasley looked like he wasn’t quite sure if he should feel relieved or sick at the statement, and Draco laughed, leaning back in his chair. Harry’s hand reached out underneath the table to find his knee, squeezing. 

The news that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were dating spread like wildfire through Hogwarts. At every corner of the school, students were talking about it, and even amongst the teachers, Draco caught the occasional knowing smiles directed at them. It was a little embarrassing, but he was too happy to be really bothered by it. And Harry, quite surprisingly, didn’t seem to mind the attention, for once, so Draco decided to not overthink it. 

If anything, Harry spurred the rumour mill on by his relentless need to touch Draco in any way he could get away with in public; whether it was reaching out to hold his hand, or place his palm on the small of his back, playing with the short hairs on the back of Draco’s neck as he leaned into him or just slinging a seemingly casual arm around his shoulders, there seemed to be always some form of contact between them, and it was  _ always _ initiated by Harry. Not that Draco wouldn’t reach out if he could, but he never got the chance to because Harry did it first and that sole fact did make Draco feel more treasured and warm than he could even begin to describe. 

And then, of course, there was the snogging. And there was lots of that. Harry caught him in the corridor between classes and pulled him into abandoned alcoves or behind tapestries to have his way with him, and Draco had  _ never _ been as thankful for Harry’s extensive knowledge of the castle’s secret hiding places as he was now. 

As well as their relationship went, though, the couples around them seemed to be crumbling, and being the Slytherin he was, Draco was _delighted_ by that development. Upon the night of their return from Hogsmeade, Weasley and Brown broke up. Apparently, there’d been a huge public fight in the Gryffindor common room resulting in the permanent split they had all been waiting for. Weasley had been sulky for all of one day, but all in all, he seemed as relieved to be rid of her as all of the rest of them were. 

The second break up came a week after and should maybe not have been as much a surprise to Draco as it was, but still, he couldn’t help but gape at Ginny as she told him off-handedly that she had dumped Thomas the previous night.

“Okay,” he said slowly, catching Hermione’s eyes, who raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “May I ask why?”

“Because he’s been driving me insane for weeks?” Ginny huffed. “I’m not a  _ possession  _ or some damsel in distress. I don’t need some 15th-century bloke who tries to  _ own  _ me.”

“Okay,” Draco replied, again, for lack of anything better to say. He had never quite seen Thomas that way, but if his behaviour had rubbed her the wrong way, who was he to tell her to stay with him? He’d happily cut the strings for her and build the bridge towards Ryan if required. 

Though, maybe, that was not necessary, he figured when she just huffed and got to her feet. 

“Right, then,” she sighed. “I’ve to take off, Ryan said he’d meet me at the pitch. He’ll fly off my frustration with me.”

“Have fun, then,” Draco smiled, catching Hermione’s eyes once more. “Don’t break my Beater. I still need him.”

“No promises,” she winked, but she looked more cheerful as she waved at them and left. 

“Told you,” Hermione smirked, quite self-satisfied. “It’s all just a matter of time.”

“Remind me to listen to you more often when it comes to romance,” Draco deadpanned. “You have a knack for that.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Hermione sighed, glaring across the Gryffindor table to where Weasley was sitting with Longbottom, Finnigan and a depressed-looking Thomas. “I seemed quite ill-advised in my own choices.”

Draco couldn’t help but agree with that assessment, but he thought it wise not to say that out loud. 

It was also the week after they had gotten together that Gryffindor played Hufflepuff. This time, Draco and Ryan watched the match from the Gryffindor stands, Draco wearing the Gryffindor scarf his boyfriend had forced him to wear (much to his Beater’s amusement) and trying to keep himself from visibly drooling over Harry up in the air. 

It was different, watching Harry play now that he knew that the other boy was  _ his.  _ For one, Harry had searched him out in the crowd before the match had started, and the moment their eyes had met and Harry had grinned and waved had made Draco feel giddy, like a silly third year girl fangirling over the Boy Who Lived. Only that wasn’t what he was doing, he reminded himself. He was rightfully losing his head over his  _ boyfriend _ , who appeared to be just as mad for him as he was, so really, everything was fine. Perfectly legitimate. 

Gryffindor won the match with a record score (everyone had obviously been especially motivated to get back at Smith after his commentary at the first match against Draco’s team, not that Draco could blame them), and Draco felt thoroughly entertained thanks to the absolutely lovely and completely useless commentary Luna had given. Most of all, though, he was absolutely enchanted by Harry’s proud smirk as he held the Snitch up in the air, catching his teammates in a celebratory embrace. 

No one could blame him, really, that he sneaked off to the Gryffindor changing room to catch his rivalling team’s captain for a snog against the lockers. He was only human, after all. 


	10. Worth the Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, the last one before Christmas, so I'll already wish you a Happy Christmas! :D I hope you will all have wonderful holidays!
> 
> As a little Christmas treat, let me share something with you. A while ago, I created playlists for each installment of this series. Now, I feel comfortable enough to share them with you. Here is the link for Year 6: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/50fSMaod3JBFm2KcTgVATT?si=TkCXX8sqRTOKVpqumnRFig
> 
> The ones for the other installments are:  
> Year 5 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KtXGyxAKVf1FqBhdc6zXE?si=a-4yZSNySzuoYSEvQFza4Q  
> Year 4 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/336FAbJdgC8iIX8zkkTcS9?si=CS_9Exb8QUOUYACdeP7S6A  
> Year 1 - 3 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7hnxgXHDjq7soWP1bJ8Kzq?si=-8ntlinPRuiNQO1ogUqROQ
> 
> Year 7 will follow when I get to posting the next installment :) 
> 
> There's one more chapter left this year, and four chapters left in total! Time flies! I hope you'll enjoy this update! You'll get an eyeful of Draco and Harry in love, and a reminder of more serious issues waiting for them.

Harry finally had his next lesson with Dumbledore the Monday after the victory against Hufflepuff. It gave him the opportunity to hand over Slughorn’s memory, at long last, something that he had been prevented from doing due to Dumbledore’s long absence in the last couple of weeks. He told Draco all about their new insights the next morning, after he had abducted him from the breakfast table to take him out to the lakeside. The weather was sunny but still fresh, and Draco was pressed up tightly against Harry’s side to steal some of his warmth as Harry repeated what Slughorn had replied to young Tom Riddle’s question.

“So, seven Horcruxes?” Draco asked, feeling both faint and sick.

“That’s what Dumbledore thinks,” Harry nodded, tracing calming circles across Draco’s back. “Dumbledore already destroyed the ring, and I destroyed one in second year. The diary.”

“The diary?” Draco repeated, definitely feeling sick now. “Oh god. I was possessed by a Horcrux?”

“Well… yes,” Harry admitted, making a face. “But does it change anything, really?”

“It feels more crass,” Draco moaned, closing his eyes. “I’d take a memory over an actual piece of his bloody  _ soul. _ ”

“Well, it makes no difference to me,” Harry said pointedly, kissing Draco’s cheek. “You’re you. He’s gone now.”

Draco took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed. “No use getting worked up over it now.” There was a beat of silence in which they just leaned against each other, Harry’s forehead touching against Draco’s temple, before Draco asked: “So, do you have any idea what the other Horcruxes might be?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted. “Dumbledore showed me another memory. Voldemort was working for Borgin & Burkes after his graduation, and he sort of used the job as an opportunity to scout for valuable objects he might use as Horcruxes. An old witch called Hepzibah Smith showed him a locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin and a cup that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff. The locket was one that Voldemort’s mother sold after her husband had left her when the spell had been broken. He stole both objects from her and murdered her, made it look like the house-elf did it, quit the job and disappeared. Dumbledore thinks both became Horcruxes.”

“Alright,” Draco frowned. “I get the locket, since he’s a descendant of Slytherin’s, but why the cup?”

“Because Voldemort feels more attached to Hogwarts than he ever felt to any person,” Harry explains, very quietly. “It’s the one place he ever felt like he belonged. Dumbledore thinks he would have tried to collect heirlooms from each founder. But to his knowledge, the only heirloom of Gryffindor’s is the sword, and that is out. So there was the cup, and maybe something of Ravenclaw’s, if he managed to find something.”

“I see,” Draco nodded. “So that makes the locket, the cup, the ring, the diary, something of Ravenclaw’s… That’s five…”

“Dumbledore thinks his snake Nagini might be the sixth Horcrux,” Harry told him. “The seventh part would be the one left in his body.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered, gulping. “So, two of those are taken care of, that leaves three objects to find and destroy, one snake to kill, and then Voldemort can be harmed?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Blimey,” Draco sighed. “He doesn’t make it easy.”

“But at least it’s a plan of some sort?” Harry tried. “It’s better than nothing.”

And because Harry was looking at him with so much hope, Draco couldn’t help but agree, though his mind was already pointing out all the weaknesses in said plan - how  _ did _ you even destroy a Horcrux? They’d better research. He knew Hermione had had no luck finding books on Horcruxes, but maybe he could summon the books from the Manor library or something. Also, how to find the missing Horcruxes? Maybe Dumbledore had some insights he was going to share with Harry on that front. 

As if Harry could hear the wheels in his head turning, he told him: “That’s what Dumbledore’s doing when he leaves the school. He’s looking for Horcruxes.”

“Well, good,” Draco muttered. “Has he been lucky since the ring?”

“He said he’s close to finding another one,” Harry said. “And that he’ll take me along when the time comes.”

Draco didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, it was good to know that Dumbledore was involving Harry as much as he could, for he’d had a way of keeping important information from him in the past. On the other hand, taking him along on such a mission was a stark reminder of Harry’s leading role in the upcoming war, something that Draco wasn’t yet entirely comfortable with. 

Then again, if Dumbledore was with him, at least he should be well protected. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry told him, again reading Draco’s silence correctly. He carded gentle fingers through Draco’s hair, making the Slytherin shiver. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I hope you’re right,” Draco sighed, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “I’ll never forgive Dumbledore if you get hurt.”

A week later, the sixth years had an Apparition practice session scheduled at Hogsmeade - the problem was that Harry and Draco were the only students who would not be off age at the time of the testing after the Easter holidays, and therefore, they were left behind. The two of them did not mind, exactly - Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were cancelled due to Draco being the only student present, and Transfiguration in the morning had been such a disaster with Harry completely unfocused and distracting Draco that an exasperated McGonagall sent them out early, though admittedly with a lot of homework. That gave Harry the whole afternoon till Herbology to further distract Draco from anything productive, a task to which he promptly set out. By pushing Draco against the wall of an abandoned corridor on the way to the library, for instance.

“You’re a nuisance,” Draco muttered weakly against Harry’s lips, but the complaint was undermined by the way he knotted his fingers in Harry’s mob of hair. “If my grades drop because of you -”

“Shut up,” Harry moaned, promptly shoving his tongue into Draco’s mouth to keep it busy.

And well, that wasn’t playing fair, really.

Draco didn’t know how long they stood there, just kissing feverishly, until the sound of footsteps on the stone floor broke them apart. Draco pushed at Harry’s chest to keep him from diving for Draco’s lips again - Harry’s lack of public decency was sometimes appalling - throwing a quick look over Harry’s shoulder, stunned to recognise a familiar face.

“Dora?” he asked, making Harry freeze. “What are you doing here?”

Dora, too, stopped in her movements to blink at them, apparently only now taking notice of their presence. Harry awkwardly shoved off Draco, expression sheepish, though Draco didn’t think Dora had even processed that she had caught them in the middle of anything untoward. She looked horrible, to be frank. Her hair was a dull, mousy grey that should belong to someone at least three times her age, and there were dark shadows under her red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked softly, taking a step towards her.

“Yes,” Dora nodded, trying to smile but it came out as a grimace. “I came to see Dumbledore.”

“His office is not here,” Harry frowned, “it’s round the other side of the castle, behind the gargoyle -”

“I know,” Dora interrupted him. “He’s not here. Apparently he’s gone away again.”

“Oh,” Harry just said, trailing off. “What did you want to see him about?”

“Nothing in particular,” Dora shrugged, but she looked shifty, restless, and the untruthfulness of her words was belied by her next words: “I just thought he might know what’s going on… I’ve heard rumours… people getting hurt…” She looked at Draco imploringly. “Have you heard from…?” 

“No,” Draco replied gently, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t. Neither of us have.”

“Oh,” she muttered, and there were tears in her eyes. Draco reached out to touch her hand, squeezing it. 

“He’s going to be fine,” he told her. “You know he can’t always get in touch. But he’s resilient and careful. He’s going to be just fine.”

Dora nodded, giving him a watery smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Right, then,” she muttered. “I need to go. See you around, you two,”

“See you,” Draco said softly, but Harry just stared after her, seeming dumbfounded.

“What was that?” Harry asked him after she was gone. “Who was she asking about?”

Draco hesitated. He didn’t want to break Dora’s confidence, but Harry was his boyfriend, and they didn’t really  _ do _ secrets, did they? 

“She was asking about Lupin,” Draco admitted, leaning back against the wall and watching his eyes widen at the new information. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to say.”

“Are the two of them…?” Harry asked, blinking.

“No,” Draco sighed. “It’s complicated. She’s been really hung up over it.”

“I thought she’s been depressed because of Sirius,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, well,” Draco shrugged. “So did I, initially. But it’s Lupin, actually.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry said, leaning back against the wall as well, so close that their shoulders touched. “Poor thing. She looks awful.”

Draco hummed, trying to put himself into his cousin’s shoes. How would he be able to deal with it, knowing that Harry cared for him to a certain degree but refusing to act on it because he was hell-bent on protecting him? Being forced instead to watch from afar as Harry threw himself into danger, not knowing if he was dead or alive?

Draco reached out to entwine their fingers, glad that Harry was there with him, that he actually got to have this. Harry squeezed his hand, as if sensing Draco’s mood, and turned his head to press a lingering kiss to his cheekbone.

The Easter holidays started that same weekend, giving the sixth years the opportunity to work down their mountains of homework and start on exam revision. For Harry, though, holidays seemed to translate to ‘long days ahead with nothing to do but molesting my boyfriend’, which Draco found in equal parts delightful and alarming. 

“It’s like you have no self-control, mate,” Weasley complained on one such occasion, as Harry was hanging all over Draco, who was making a valid attempt at writing his essay for Arithmancy. 

Weasley had slowly integrated himself back into their group after his break up, much to Draco’s consternation. He was trying his best to keep his insults at bay, for the sake of Harry, who seemed to welcome the reconsolidation of their friend group, and even for Hermione, who seemed to have forgiven Weasley, for the most part. Draco was unsure how that had happened, but Harry had told him there had been a shouting match in the Gryffindor common room and some heart-to-heart that had resulted in them rekindling their former friendship. Fuck Draco if he knew what that meant, but then again, maybe he wasn’t one to judge. After all, he had gone through quite some drama while pining for Harry, too. 

Consequently, Draco remained the only one angry at Weasley  _ once again _ , though, meaning he had to hold his tongue and play nice Slytherin to the dumb, mean Gryffindor. 

Thank god for Ginny, who had no reserve for saying what Draco was thinking. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Ginny snorted, looking up from her OWL revision. “I distinctly remember you constantly having your tongue down _ Lav-Lav’s  _ throat for about half a year. At least Harry and Draco have  _ some  _ decency. They keep the tongue-acrobatics for when we aren’t around.” Draco grinned, and Ginny held up a hand for Draco to high five, which Draco gratefully accepted. “Don’t worry,” she smirked,” I have your back.”

“You two are so annoying since you’ve become friends,” Weasley commented, rolling his eyes.

“Suck it up, Weasley,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Be happy I’m not shagging her. I was under the impression that was your biggest worry.”

Weasley almost choked on air and Ginny cackled. Harry was chuckling into Draco’s ear, making him shiver. “Well I, for one, am quite grateful you aren’t,” he pointed out. “I might have had to murder Ginny.”

“You could have tried,” Ginny grinned. 

“Please, no murders over shagging Draco,” Hermione said absent-mindedly as she scribbled down an elusive rune. “It would make an awful gravestone inscription.”

“Wow,” Ryan noted, grinning as he appeared behind Ginny, a hand on her shoulder. “Draco, you really did a number on your Gryffindor friends. You made them fluent at sass. I am impressed.”

“Excuse me,” Ginny said, indignantly. “I’ve _always_ been fluent at sass. ‘Sass’ is my middle name. Have you met my brothers? Present company excluded, of course.”

“Hey!” Weasley called, looking offended. 

“Oh, do shut up,” Ginny rolled her eyes as she packed up her things and got to her feet. She kissed Ryan’s cheek as she did, making Draco bite his lip to keep from grinning. _ Well, well. _

“I’m off to the library,” she announced, waving at them. “See you later!” And with that, they were gone, leaving her brother to gape after them. 

“Was that -” he started, turning to them. “Did she just -” He turned on Draco, his gaze accusatory. “That was a Slytherin!”

“No shit,” Draco deadpanned. “Your powers of deduction humble me, Weasley.”

“Since when is my sister dating a Slytherin?!”

“For about a week now,” Hermione shrugged. “Though they’ve been dancing around it for a while now.”

“What the bloody hell!” Weasley called. 

“What?!” Draco demanded, rather sharply. “Are you going to tell me you’re discriminating against him because he’s a  _ Slytherin?!” _

There was a moment of silence in which Weasley seemed to have realised what he had said. He looked to Harry, who had raised an eyebrow at him, his arm still around Draco and his face, for once, unsympathetic. He then turned to Hermione, whose expression was decidedly unimpressed, and it made him sort of crumble. It would have been funny, if Draco wasn’t so pissed.

“Well, no,” Weasley said, at last, his voice small.

“Good,” Draco returned, rather pointedly. “Because he’s my Beater, and he’s a good bloke. Ginny couldn’t have found anyone better.”

Weasley’s ears were rather red now, but he let the subject drop, much to Draco’s surprise. Harry brought a hand up to Draco’s neck and gently pressed his fingers into the knots of tension that had built in rhythmic circles, making them loosen. With a sigh, Draco returned to his essay. Harry kissed the spot behind his ear that made him all fluttery, and he even forgot to be angry. 

“You know,” Draco moaned, leaning back in Harry’s arms as the other sucked on the junction of his neck and his shoulder. “You really need to let me study, once in a while.”

“I let you study all the time!” Harry protested, tightening his arms around him. “It’s not my fault you study like  _ Hermione!” _

“I don’t,” Draco said, rather weakly. “I just have a bigger workload than you. I-” 

But the rest of his sentence was swallowed up in a kiss, and Draco dropped the book onto the grass before them and let Harry pull them into a horizontal position. 

It was curiously warm out today, the first feelers of spring reaching the Scottish mountains, and Harry and Draco had escaped their group of friends for some alone time outside on the grounds. Draco had taken his work along, but he should have known that he wouldn’t get anything done once they were unchaperoned. 

And it’s not like he minded, really. He might gripe at Harry, but he could still study in the evenings up at his dormitory. This time with Harry was too precious to turn him down. 

So he twisted in Harry’s arms until they were chest to chest and he was able to kiss Harry properly. Harry’s arms closed around Draco, pulling their bodies closer together, and Draco just let himself sink into it, enjoying Harry’s proximity and touch. He could never get enough of it, and from the looks of it, neither could Harry. 

As if to prove that Harry’s mind had travelled along the same tracks, Harry muttered, quite without breaking the kiss, so the words were muffled against Draco’s lips: “Merlin, we’re not alone enough. You’re driving me  _ mad.” _

“We’re alone all the time,” Draco chuckled, breaking the kiss to smile at him. 

“Not really,” Harry groaned. “There’s always people around, and we’re always in public. The closest we get to privacy is snogging behind a tapestry.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco grimaced. “That’s the downside of not being in the same house. We can’t just sneak into a dormitory while our roommates are out or something.”

“I’m so close to just hiding you under the Invisibility Cloak and smuggling you into Gryffindor for a night,” Harry said darkly, making Draco laugh. 

“I don’t think Weasley would appreciate it,” Draco smirked, “though that would make me even more up for it, to be honest.” Harry pinched him for that, making Draco squirm on top of him, laughing some more. 

“No, really,” Harry said, and he looked a little shy now. “I was thinking… Maybe at some point, we could use the Room of Requirement? You know, like we used to, for Occlumency lessons?”

Draco blinked, wondering why that hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Oh,” he said. “Sure, of course. That sounds like the easiest way to find privacy in this bloody castle.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, one hand drawing circles on Draco’s back. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be immediately, we can take our time, it’s just… I really want to touch you.”

Draco flushed as Harry’s meaning sank in, and he cleared his throat, fixing his boyfriend with a look.

“Harry,” he said. “I don’t need  _ time.  _ I’ve had enough  _ time _ , believe me. I’ve known for a while that I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” Harry nodded, looking both embarrassed and pleased. “Good.” He leaned up to press his lips against Draco’s for a soft kiss, and Draco cupped his cheeks with both hands, making it last. “Speaking of it,” Harry continued, slightly breathless when they pulled apart again. “When exactly did you fall for me? I always wondered.”

Draco halted, scanning Harry’s face.

“When did you?” he asked, hesitant to give his game away just yet. 

“Now, that’s not fair!” Harry complained. “I asked first!”

“Humour me,” Draco smiled, running nimble fingers through Harry’s messy hair.

“Ugh,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. I started figuring it out after Ginny made that stupid comment on the Hogwarts Express last year, if you must now.”

“Ah,” Draco smiled. “Spent the summer thinking about it, then?”

“You have no idea,” Harry huffed. “And then I came back with this whole new awareness of you, and I got jealous all over the place, and my Amortentia smelled of you -” He cut himself off, his eyes widening, indicating that he had not meant to say that. Draco, though, was gleaming under that new knowledge. 

“Tell me more, tell me more,” he cooed.

“No, enough,” Harry hissed, obviously embarrassed. “Your turn. When did you fall for me?”

Draco sighed, a little more guarded now. He looked Harry in the eye.

“When do you think?” he asked. 

“No!” Harry called indignantly, glaring at him. “I answered! You can’t weasel out now!”

“It’s just a question, Harry,” Draco chuckled. “It’s not like I’m not going to answer. I’m just curious about how aware you are.”

“But I’m pants at this kind of thing, and you know it!” Harry grumbled. “There’s no way I’ll get it right!”

“Just try,” Draco shrugged. “What do you have to lose?”

“Well, you might tease me forever, for one,” Harry rolled his eyes. “But fine, whatever. Did you realise around the time when I asked you to Slughorn’s Christmas Party?” Draco gave him a pitying look. “After?” Harry asked, biting his lip.

“Before!” Draco called, incredulous. “Salazar, honestly?!”

“Merlin, okay, okay! Maybe Ginny’s comment did it for you, too?” 

“You’re not even trying!” Draco complained, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Fine!” Harry groaned, closing his eyes. “Just - let me think!” He was silent for a moment, his face scrunched up, and Draco couldn’t help but smile. “How about when I dated Cho?” Harry asked, opening his eyes again.

“No,” Draco said. “But you’re getting warmer.”

“Come off it, Draco!” Harry whined. “I’m never going to guess! Just tell me!”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. There was a moment of silence between them, and it was what Draco needed to gather the courage to speak the words out loud. 

“Yule Ball, fourth year,” he admitted, his voice soft.

Harry gaped, his mouth falling open. The silence stretched on between them.

“Draco,” Harry said, his voice flat. “That’s more than  _ two years  _ now.”

“Yeah,” Draco muttered, shrugging. “Well...”

Silence again, before Harry hissed out a very heartfelt:  _ “Fuck!” _

Draco found himself on his back on the grass a moment later and Harry was all over him, kissing him like he wanted to make up for all the time he  _ hadn’t  _ spent kissing him in the past. Draco clung onto his shoulders helplessly, whimpering into the kiss and trying not to drown. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathed when he finally pulled away to look at him, green eyes full of pain and guilt. “Damn, I’m so  _ sorry _ , Draco. I had no idea. All this time… Oh  _ god.  _ I’m so  _ thick.” _

“No, you’re not,” Draco said softly. “I was hiding it from you with all my might, after all.”

“Still, I should have noticed!” Harry moaned, resting his forehead against Draco’s. “Our fight, fourth year, the lake…” Draco grimaced, and Harry’s grip on him tightened. “I never wanted to hurt you, Draco.”

“I know you didn’t,” Draco whispered. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

“ _ I  _ blame me,” Harry hissed. “Because I think I might have been feeling this back then! I just didn’t recognise it! You’ve always been special, Draco, and I could never put my finger on it. I think part of it was that I didn’t think I was supposed to feel this way for a bloke - growing up with the Dursleys, you don’t really think that’s an option until someone tells you it is - but it’s also that the feeling has always just been  _ there _ , and I never really questioned it. I knew what I felt for you was different than what I felt for Ron or Hermione, but I’d accepted that because that’s just how we were. But  _ damn,” _ he leaned in to press his lips to Draco’s again, “if I had known that you were suffering because of me… I dunno. Maybe I’d have figured it out sooner.”

“But that wouldn’t have worked for me, I think,” Draco frowned. “Because I’d have always wondered if you were with me because you felt guilty, or because you  _ wanted _ to be with me. So really, this is better. And Harry,” he cupped Harry’s neck, catching those startling green eyes to make sure he was listening. “you were  _ worth  _ the wait. I would have waited way longer for you.”

Harry made a pained noise in his throat and kissed him again, pouring all the things he didn’t seem able to voice out loud into the kiss, and Draco let himself fall into it, let Harry take care of him. And honestly, these years of pining, of feeling lost and not good enough, they had been hard, but this, Harry’s arms around him and their lips against each others'… Draco would do it all over again, for this outcome. 

And Draco would tell Harry that, again and again, until the other stopped feeling guilty. 

When Draco returned to his dormitory that evening, he felt completely blissed out, and he knew that a smile was permanently fixed on his face. This made it come as even more of a shock to find Zabini sitting on Draco’s bed in the otherwise empty room, a sour look on his face. 

Draco halted in the doorway, staring at Zabini with wide eyes, and the other raised his dark, unamused eyes to his with a click of his tongue. 

“Finally,” he snapped. “Come in and close the door behind you. I need to talk to you, you prat!”

“Me?” Draco asked, hesitantly stepping fully into the dormitory and letting the door fall shut with a soft ‘click’. “Why would you want to talk to me?”

“Because while you have been busy snogging Potter’s face off,” Zabini began, rolling his eyes to express what he thought of that particular life choice, “things around here are actually going to shit, and I figured it was time someone made you aware of that.”

“What in Salazar’s name are you talking about?” Draco demanded.

“Nott!” Zabini called. “Haven’t you noticed  _ anything  _ unusual about his behaviour?” 

Draco frowned, staring at him. “Well,” he muttered. “He’s been quiet. Subdued, really. But with his father in Azkaban, I thought -”

“He’s up to something, Malfoy!” Zabini interrupted him. “Something is going on in the background, and he’s trying not to draw any attention to himself. That’s why he’s quiet.”

Draco was more alert now. “What do you mean, he’s up to something?” Draco asked. “What is he doing?” 

“I don’t know!” Zabini called, clearly frustrated. “Something sinister, for sure. I’d bet my left arse cheek that he’s in league with the Death Eaters.”

Draco drew in a gasp. He felt cold all over. “They wouldn’t - he’s a kid!” Draco stammered. “He’s barely off age!”

“You think the Dark Lord cares about that?” Zabini scoffed. “Because I don’t! It might be the perfect way to punish his father for failing him.”

And Draco knew that he was right. “Shit,” he muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair. 

“You have to talk to him,” Zabini said.

“ _Me?_ ” Draco called. “Why me?”

“Because you’re on Potter’s side, you idiot! You managed to jump off! You can help him do it!” 

“I’m sorry to burst your little bubble,” Draco cut in, feeling a little hysterical. “But Theodore Nott  _ hates  _ me. He’d rather die than accept my help!”

“He doesn’t hate you, he’s jealous of you, you pillock!” Zabini groaned. “He’s always wanted to  _ be  _ you! At least when you were younger, and then you threw away all that privilege and turned against him and he never really got over that! But I know he doesn’t want to be doing any of this!”

“How can you be so sure?” Draco challenged. “He seems pretty convinced of his Death Eater ideals to me.”

“Have you looked at him recently, Malfoy?” Zabini groaned. “He’s a walking corpse! He’s scared and desperate! He needs someone to help him! And I thought that’s what you and your Saviour friends did? Helping people!”

Draco cursed. “This is a horrible idea,” he muttered. “He’s going to murder me if I try talking to him!”

“You won’t know until you try,” Zabini shrugged. “I told you, Malfoy, your role in this war is bigger than being Potter’s damned sidekick. It’s time you acted like it. Plus, you owe Pansy for saving your bloody neck from Umbridge last year, and this is us calling in favours.”

Draco took a deep breath. Flashes of memory hit him, of when Theodore Nott and he were still children and playing in the Manor gardens. With a deep sigh, he nodded. 

“Fine,” he gave in. “I’ll try. I’ll figure something out.” 

“Thank Salazar,” Zabini breathed.

Draco turned his head and looked over at Nott’s empty bed, wondering what in Merlin’s name he had just gotten himself into. 


	11. The Thing About Destinies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Back with the last update for the year! Please check Chapter End Notes for warnings - they have been in the story tags from the beginning, but in case you are worried, I want you to be prepared. 
> 
> Now, I want to thank you all for the support you've given me through the year 2019! It's been a difficult year for me and your comments have meant the world for me! This story has been my baby for about 2 years now and I'm so glad so many people are enjoying it. I hope you all have a wonderful New Year's Eve and a great year 2020!

“So,” Draco said, when he had led Harry away from the Great Hall for some privacy. “I need a favour from you.”

“Anything,” Harry replied without a second thought, making Draco smile, despite the seriousness of the situation, at the pure trust Harry displayed towards him. 

“I need the Marauder’s Map,” Draco told him, meeting Harry’s eyes and watching the confusion at the unexpected turn their conversation was taking. “I need to keep an eye on Nott.”

“What’s he doing?” Harry asked, immediately alert.

“I’m not sure,” Draco admitted. “But I had a talk with Blaise Zabini yesterday, and he thinks he might be working for the Dark Lord.”

“Shit,” Harry hissed, stopping in his tracks. 

“Yes,” Draco grimaced, coming to a halt next to him. “He wants me to talk to him, help him see reason. Offer him a helping hand in the act of changing sides, so to say.”

_ “What?!” _ Harry called, making Draco hush him frantically. He checked, but they were still alone in the corridor. A couple of portraits were eyeing them curiously, though, so Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and started walking again.

“Zabini’s got this idea in his head,” Draco explained under his breath. “That I’m some kind of figurehead for a Slytherin and Pureblood revolution. I changed sides, and I can inspire others to do it, apparently.”

“But this is  _ Nott _ we’re talking about!” Harry protested, his face red. Draco could tell that actual fury was building underneath the receding shock. “ _ Nott _ , who spent the last six years making your life a living hell! Who landed you in hospital wing countless of times! Don’t you think he’s a special case, Draco?!”

“I’ve also known Theodore Nott since we were little, Harry,” Draco reminded him gently. “We didn’t always use to be enemies.”

“Oh, and you think he’s suddenly going to remember that when you try to tell him to turn his back on his parents and sell their side out?” Harry hissed. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he always insulted you for!”

“Yes, but that’s before he saw how shit it would be to work for the Dark Lord,” Draco pointed out. “He might think differently now.”

Harry cursed under his breath, but apparently, he had no ready answer. 

“This is a horrible idea!” he groaned. “It’s dangerous!”

“I’m aware of that,” Draco sighed. “I promise I’ll be careful. But Harry, I can take care of myself, and you know it. My grades in DADA are as good as yours, and while I might not have your instincts, I have more natural self-preservation. I’m first going to try to hang around him a little anyway, figure out what he’s up to, and watch out for the right moment to approach him.”

“Can’t you just use Legilimency on him and be done with it?” Harry asked moodily. “Then we could go to Dumbledore with what you found and -”

“Okay, Harry, even assuming he was not proficient in Occlumency - which I doubt, seeing that he frequents with the Dark Lord - he would  _ know _ the moment I tried to enter his mind. There’s no subtle way to do it. And then he won’t talk to me again.”

“Fuck talking to him!” Harry called.

“I promised Zabini,” Draco reminded him. 

“I don’t care what Zabini wants!” Harry snapped. “I care what happens to  _ you _ , and I won’t let Nott hurt you because Zabini wants you to go on some unwarranted rescue mission!”

“I owe Pansy Parkinson, and by extension, Zabini, since they’re apparently a package deal,” Draco pointed out. “They saved my arse from Umbridge last year. Zabini made it very clear this is them calling in favours. I can’t back out.”

“Fucking  _ Slytherins _ ,” Harry spat, looking ready to murder Zabini.

“Hey,” Draco said, reaching out to close his fingers around his wrist. “Trust me, okay? It’s going to be alright. You do dangerous shit all the time, and I have to sit back and let you. Now it’s your turn.”

“You never just sit back and let me,” Harry muttered, rather petulantly, but Draco’s words seemed to have hit a sore spot somewhere because he took a deep breath and visibly deflated. “Fine. Okay. But you’re taking the Map  _ and  _ the Cloak. And you’ll send a Patronus if you need my help. I don’t care if it’s flashy and gives away what you are doing to the whole school, but if you are in danger, you will ask for help!”

“Understood,” Draco nodded, trying hard not to smile. “You are adorable when you’re protective.”

“Shut up!” Harry groaned. “I’m being serious here!”

“I know,” Draco nodded. “So am I.”

Harry glowered at him half-heartedly, but then he pulled him in by the hand until they were chest to chest and nose to nose. 

“There’s nothing I hate more in the world than when something happens to you,” Harry whispered, his lips brushing against Draco’s. “So you’d better make sure to take care of yourself because I won’t vouch for what I’ll do if Nott hurts you in any way.”

“Noted,” Draco breathed, the warmth of being treasured this deeply by Harry filling him to the brink.

And so Draco’s mission to spy on Theodore Nott began. It didn’t take him long to figure out a couple of things:

  1. Zabini had been right in saying that Nott looked sickly and anxious. He barely talked, in class, at mealtimes or in the hallways, and when he did, it was with Crabbe and Goyle. He didn’t eat much, either, and he never met anyone’s eyes. It was clear that he was hiding something now that Draco had been made aware of it. Why had he not seen it before?  
  

  2. Nott disappeared every day for varied lengths of time, and when he did, he vanished off the Marauder’s Map. It puzzled Draco, at first, before he used Harry’s Invisibility Cloak to follow Nott out of the Slytherin dorms one morning and saw him enter the Room of Requirement. And that made sense, Draco realised. It was the room’s magic hiding Nott from any kind of detection.   
  

  3. Whatever Nott did in the Room of Requirement, it seemed to take a long time. He stayed in there for hours at a time and when he came out again, he looked, if anything, more frustrated with himself. Draco had tried, a couple of times, to follow him into the room, but had quickly given up, realising that it was impossible. And anyway, bursting in on Nott’s secret mission probably wasn’t very conducive to his actual plan of talking to him and extending a hand of peace.



So instead, Draco continued to watch him and ticked off his options in his mind. He knew, naturally, that he had to approach Nott eventually, if he wanted to keep his word to Zabini, but the distance between them seemed like an abyss impossible to cross. He kept convincing himself that he was just waiting for the right moment, but days passed and turned into a week and then two and he still hadn’t acted. 

And then, he was entering his dormitory one afternoon, about to drop off his Arithmancy book in favour of Ancient Runes before lunch, to find Nott sitting on his bed, head in his hands. He startled when he took note of Draco, getting to his feet and turning his back to him, instead busying himself with his trunk, but it was too late; Draco had seen the crack in his armour, and he had frozen in his movements, staring at Nott’s tense shoulders, his mind racing.

This was the moment, he knew. He cleared his throat, his fingers flexing around the books in his hands.

“Theo,” he said slowly, his voice strangely raw and a little off. “Are you all right?”

Nott stopped moving at the use of his nickname. Draco knew it was a bold move - he hadn’t called him like that since before they started Hogwarts - but Draco felt that, if he wanted to stand a chance at getting through to him, it would do good to remind Theodore Nott that they had once shared a friendship of sorts.

There was a long, icy silence between them, and Draco knew that Nott wasn’t going to answer. So Draco figured that he needed to speak.

“Listen,” he muttered. “I  _ know _ . I know he’s making you do something.”

At that, Nott whirled around, eyes wide and wand pointed at Draco. Draco dropped his books to the floor, putting his hands up in surrender, indicating that he wasn’t armed (a fact that he was inwardly regretting now).

“ _ What _ do you know?!” Nott hissed, and Draco recognised the pure, unadulterated panic in his eyes. 

“No details!” Draco assured him quickly. “You’ve kept your secret well. I don’t know what your plan is, but I know there  _ is _ a plan. Your misery is jumping out at everyone who takes the time to look at you twice, Theo!”

“You don’t know  _ anything!” _ Nott yelled, wand still trained on him, but his hand was shaking. “You got  _ away! _ You and your spineless mother, running off to Dumbledore and hiding behind Potter -”

“We got out because we knew it was the right thing to do,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “The Dark Lord doesn’t  _ care _ what happens to you, Theo. You have to see that.”

“Oh, and Dumbledore does?!” Nott challenged.

“If you deflect, he will offer you protection,” Draco promised. “He did for me and Mother.”

“I can’t just  _ leave _ , you brainless idiot!” Nott yelled, his voice high-pitched and desperate. “He’ll kill my parents!”

Draco closed his eyes, cursing inwardly.  _ Of course.  _ Even if they got Katheryn Nott out of the Dark Lord’s reach, Henry Nott would still be stuck in Azkaban with his own father, vulnerable to when the Death Eater’s decided to break them out and exact their revenge. And Theodore was much more loyal to Henry than Draco was to Lucius. 

“The nerve you have!” Nott growled, and Draco’s eyes flew open again. “When it’s all  _ your  _ fault, to begin with!”

“My fault?!” Draco called, eyes bulging. “I don’t -”

“It should have been  _ you!”  _ Nott shouted. “ _ Your  _ father was the one leading the mission on the Ministry last year!  _ He  _ fucked up, not  _ my _ father! But the Dark Lord couldn’t very well get to you and make you pay for your father’s mistake, now could he?! So he’s making me do his bidding!”

And  _ damn _ , Draco felt like the floor had just dropped from underneath his feet. He had known, of course, that he had been in danger from the Dark Lord, had known that this had been the reason his mother had searched Dumbledore out in the first place, but he had  _ not _ known that other people would have to suffer instead.

He might dislike Nott, but he had not wished that fate on him. 

“Theo,” Draco breathed. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

At that, Nott laughed. It sounded hollow. “Not so smart, after all, are you?” he taunted. “Or has Potter fucked your brain out yet?!”

“Let me help you,” Draco insisted, ignoring the dig. “We can go to Dumbledore. Maybe we can find a way to fix this without endangering your parents.”

“You don’t get it, do you?!” Nott shouted, taking quick steps towards Draco, and Draco struggled to not back away, to stand his ground. His hand twitched for his wand, but he feared that it would set Nott off if he reached for it now. And then Nott was all in his face, and the tip of his wand was digging into his chest and he was hissing: “There’s no way  _ out _ for me! It’s too late!”

“But you don’t want to do this!” Draco pointed out, his heart hammering against his chest. “A blind man can see that you don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter if I want to or not!” Nott groaned, and the way he shoved his wand against Draco’s collarbone now was painful. “I  _ have _ to! I don’t get to fucking choose, Draco! Not everyone is the Chosen One’s fucktoy!”

“I know you think there isn’t a way out,” Draco muttered. “I’ve been in situations like that before. In our second year, the Dark Lord had possessed me and I was walking around opening the bloody Chamber of Secrets. I know what it’s like to be scared and think that you won’t get out of this. But believe me, there’s always a way. If you’ll just -”

“Stop talking high and mighty like a fucking  _ Gryffindor!” _ Nott spat, and Draco had just a moment to see the look in his eyes and know he had pushed him too far. There was a flash of magic from a non-verbal spell, and then, Draco was off his feet and flying across the room. He connected painfully with the stone wall across the room, banging his head and losing sense for his surroundings. 

It only took a moment for Nott to be back, though, grabbing the front of his robes and hovering above where he lay crumpled on the ground, his face contorted in rage as he stared Draco down.

“You think just because you got away, just because you’re with the Golden Boy now, that you know all the answers, don’t you?! Well, let me tell you, Malfoy, you know shit! Life’s not the fair, simple self-help group you make it out to be, and the sooner you realise that the easier it will be for all of us!”

Draco opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say. His head felt like it was going to split open and he didn’t know where his wand was and -

“Oh  _ Merlin _ ,” Nott groaned, not even giving him a chance to speak. “Shut  _ up!  _ I don’t want any more of your nonsense - shut up, shut up, shut -  _ Crucio!” _

And that, Draco had not expected. The pain was sharp and all-encompassing, and he was screaming and flailing under Nott’s grip, trying to get away from it, but it didn’t  _ stop _ , he was going to  _ die _ , he was -

And then, it was over, and Nott was gone, and there was shouting. Draco was hazy and dizzy and it took a moment for him to recognise that someone was shaking him. 

“Draco? Draco, answer me! Shit, Blaise, we need to get Snape!” 

“I’m not going to leave you alone with this pillock, Pans, even if he’s under a body-bind! Did you see him crucio-ing the shit out of Malfoy?!”

“I know, but Draco’s hurt! He’s bleeding like hell, and we need help!”

“Fuck, okay! I swear I’m never helping  _ that  _ bloke again, I can’t  _ believe _ -”

And that was all Draco registered before he lost consciousness altogether. 

When Draco woke up again, he felt like his brain had been wrapped into a thick layer of cotton. For a moment, he did not know where he was, and it was only when voices began to filter through the haze of confusion that he took note of Harry’s presence at his side.

“Draco,” Harry muttered, his voice soft and tender and completely wrecked. One hand came up to stroke back his hair from his forehead, his touch ever so gentle and careful, and his other was clinging to Draco’s like a lifeline. 

“Whe’m I?” Draco slurred, not quite in possession of his speech yet.

“The hospital wing,” Harry explained, and his eyes darkened noticeably. “Parkinson and Zabini alerted Snape, who brought you in. They said you and Nott got into a fight.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered, and flashes of what had transpired came back to him, bit by bit. 

Harry looked like he wanted to say something more, but was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey hurrying to his side.

“Mr Malfoy,” she greeted him, her voice a soothing tone of practicality. “Back to the living, I see. Do you feel any pain in your head?”

“No,” Draco sighed, frowning a little. “But I feel… strange?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her expression wry now. “And I expect you will for a while longer. This was no simple concussion you came in with, Mr Malfoy. Your skull was fractured profoundly , you were bleeding externally and internally, and there was a minor swelling of your brain. I could fix it, naturally, but I chose to apply some gentler and slow-working charms to get the job done in fear of causing any lasting damage through hasty work. Also,” and she paused here, eyeing him closely now, “I observed traces of Dark Magic in your nervous system, and I didn’t want them to intervene with any spells I cast. Can you remember any curse Mr Nott used on you, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco did. He could feel the burning and total pain of the Cruciatus Curse like it was happening right now, but he knew, clear as day, that if he told Madam Pomfrey that Nott had cast an Unforgivable Curse on him, the other boy would go to Azkaban. 

At Azkaban, he would be unprotected, just like his father, and the Dark Lord’s wrath would be turned on them even more viciously because he had failed to perform whatever mission he was handed. And again, it would be Draco’s fault.

“I don’t remember,” Draco lied. “It’s all fuzzy.”

Madam Pomfrey stared at him for a moment longer, and Draco suspected she knew exactly what curse had been cast, but wasn’t ready to point fingers without Draco’s testimony. Finally, she nodded, turning away. 

“All right,” she said. “If you remember anything, please tell me.”

She left Harry and Draco alone soon after, disappearing into her office, and Draco was grateful for the privacy. 

“I’m going to murder him,” Harry announced, as soon as she was gone. His expression was haunted. “I’m going to make him pay for laying a bloody finger on you.”

“Harry,” Draco sighed, rather tiredly. “No.”

“He could have killed you, Draco!” Harry hissed. “He almost did!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Draco quipped, trying for lightness. “We’ve both been here for head injuries after Quidditch matches more times than we can count.” The joke fell flat between them, and Harry’s fingers only tightened on his hand as he stared him down, green eyes bright with emotion. “Harry -”

“You give me all these lectures about watching out for myself, about keeping myself alive - but look at you!” Harry snapped, and his voice was choked now. “I almost lost you, and you have the audacity to  _ joke _ about it!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco apologised. “I didn’t mean to -”

“I care about your life as much as you care about mine, so stop treating it like it doesn’t matter!” Harry ranted. 

“I know you care about me,” Draco breathed. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, sometimes I think you don’t know what you sound like,” Harry grumbled, looking away. 

Draco brought their joined hands up to his lips in a clumsy movement, pressing a lip to the back of Harry’s. Harry took a couple of deep breaths before meeting Draco’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Harry just nodded, acknowledging his words, and then he leaned in to press gentle lips to his forehead. 

“Don’t ever think you don’t matter,” Harry whispered against his skin, “that it wouldn’t destroy me if anything happened to you.” 

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. They stayed like that for a minute, just enjoying each other’s proximity, until Harry pulled away, looking a little calmer. 

“Just… Harry?” Draco tried, hesitantly. “Don’t go after Nott.” The stare Harry gave him was flat, so he added, more urgent: “I’m serious. Please don’t.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t,” Harry challenged.

“Apart from the fact that you could be hurt or expelled and that he’s probably already being punished by Snape as we speak -” Draco took an unsteady breath, licking his lips before admitting: “He’s scared and desperate, Harry. I pushed him too far and he lashed out.”

“That’s no excuse!” Harry snapped.

“Maybe not,” Draco agreed. “But it’s  _ human. _ Let’s not make it any harder than it is.”

“Why are you defending him?” Harry demanded.

“Because it could have been me!” Draco burst out. “Don’t you see, Harry? If we hadn’t become friends and I’d never have broken with my father -”

“You would have  _ never _ !” Harry interrupted him, with such conviction that it tore at Draco’s heart. 

“Wouldn’t I have?” he challenged. “I’m pretty sure I would have. It was  _ you _ who changed my path, Harry, let’s not kid ourselves. And Nott didn’t have a Harry to drag him off. It’s as simple as that.”

“I think that’s bullshit,” Harry declared.

“Think what you may,” Draco shrugged, feeling endlessly tired. “It’s the truth, though. I’m not inherently good just because you decided so.” Harry was frowning at him, and Draco had to close his eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache blooming again. “Please, just promise me to let it be,” he sighed. “We’ll figure out what to do about Nott later, but don’t go looking for revenge. It won’t get us anywhere.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, and his fingers were back in Draco’s hair, stroking it gently. “Whatever you say.”

Draco had to stay in the hospital wing for two whole days due to Madam Pomfrey’s insistence. In the days he was out of action, the Apparition exams finally took place at Hogsmeade, though Draco didn’t exactly miss out on those, seeing that he was too young to take them in the first place. Hermione and Weasley had gone, though, and Hermione had dropped in later that day to inform him with an air of triumph that she had, quite unsurprisingly, passed, while Weasley had, much to Draco’s entertainment, failed because he had left behind half an eyebrow. 

While Hermione dropped in occasionally, Harry only left his side when he had to. He had, as Draco perceived with some relief, taken Draco’s words to heart and left Nott alone, but Draco could tell that the whole ordeal had shocked him to the core, and he was unusually sombre in a way that Draco didn’t really associate with him. Sometimes he caught Harry looking at him in a certain way, as if he was trying to figure something out about him, and it made Draco deeply uncomfortable, though he couldn’t explain why.

He was declared back to full health just in time for Slytherin’s final match of the season, much to his relief as well as his whole team’s. All of them had come by to see him as well, though their urgency to see him back on the field had put Harry on edge so they had tried to time their visits for moments whenever he wasn’t anywhere nearby. 

“I’m pretty sure we could get Potter suspended for sabotaging our team by trying to keep you out of action longer,” Viola muttered moodily. “Not to mention that he was ready to behead Ryan for asking you to get the fuck out of this bed.”

“Give him a break, I just scared him, is all,” Draco sighed, shrugging apologetically at Ryan. His Beater, though, just grinned at him sheepishly, returning: “Mate, I’m dating a Gryffindor myself, remember? I know how fiery they get.”

“You will be fine for Saturday, right?” Zoe asked, almost timidly. “I heard Nott roughened you up quite badly. Snape put him in detention every weekend for the rest of the year.”

“He should have been expelled!” Abbas muttered darkly. “Who does he think he is, prancing around like he’s better than the rest of us and then attacking you like that?!”

“His type has always been like that, though,” Yatin rolled his eyes. “Pureblood elite. And now that You-Know-Who’s back, it’s even worse. Draco’s a rare exception to the rule, we all know it.”

“It’s funny because until we started hanging out with Draco and his friends, I didn’t realise that it was only Slytherin where these things still mattered,” Yurika muttered, deeply thoughtful. “I’ve been spending much more time with Luna lately, and sometimes with Ginny and her crowd, and no one ever cares who your parents are once you’re at a Gryffindor or Ravenclaw table, or I guess Hufflepuff. But with Slytherins, it suddenly matters.”

“Not with everyone,” Carina countered. 

“No,” Yurika smiled. “But we had to find each other first, didn’t we?”

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, before Yatin said, with more force than Draco expected: “I think it’s stupid. All of it. We’re far too many Slytherins in number to all be pureblooded, or even half-blooded. There’s gotta be some Muggleborns amongst us. But they can never speak up because outing themselves would be social suicide.” He looked at Draco suddenly, addressing him directly: “That’s why what you did is so important, Draco. You broke the stereotype, and it  _ matters _ . Don’t let Nott or anyone else ever tell you otherwise.”

Draco didn’t know what to answer to that. He felt deeply shaken by the words of his teammates, more than by the insinuations Zabini, Lupin or Harry had made in the same direction and for the first time, he wondered if they really had some sort of truth to them.

He had never intended to inspire hope in others, but apparently, he had done it unwittingly. Maybe it was worth remembering that, after all, if only for the sake of his friends. 

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Harry muttered, pressing up against his side at the Slytherin table. 

“Yes, Mother,” Draco teased, making Harry throw him an exasperated glare. “Please, Harry, relax. We’re playing Hufflepuff, not  _ you.  _ It’s not gonna be a life-or-death match.”

“As if you facing off against each other was ever life or death,” Ryan snorted. “I’d rather call it ‘foreplay’”

“Careful,” Draco warned. “I could still bench you. I’m sure Zoe would make a fantastic Beater.”

“I’d give it a try,” Zoe winked at him across the table. 

“Fine, geez, I’ll zip it, Captain,” Ryan rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun today.”

Draco shook his head fondly before returning his attention to Harry. “I’ll be fine,” he promised him. “I’m not a sugar quill. I don’t break that easily.”

Harry looked like he was biting his tongue, but he did refrain from protesting, which Draco counted as a success. 

Slytherin went into the match as the outstanding favourite. Having won both of their prior matches, they needed only one more victory to secure the house cup, and Hufflepuff’s form had been mediocre at best. Draco’s team, though, was motivated as ever, and as he called them together for a huddle in the cabin, they were all positively buzzing with energy, even Zoe, who was sidelined today. 

“So,” Draco began, meeting every eye in the circle. “Viola once pointed out that we’re probably the most unpopular Slytherin team in the history of the house. And that might well be true, but we’re also probably the best. And you know why? Because in this team, no one had to buy their way in. No one got in by their surname or their blood status. We’re all here because we love Quidditch and we’re bloody good at it, and it shows on the pitch. And no one can take that from us, no matter what happens out there today. We already won. Because against all odds, in this fucked up house and world, we became a team, and we’re  _ successful _ , and we’ve already proven our worth. Nobody can take that from us. So go out there today, show them hell, be proud of who you are, and leave the pitch with your head held high, because we’re sending a message to this school, and to our housemates. Are you with me?”

The response to his words was deafening, and Draco felt so elated that he was sure he could have flown without his broom. 

They won the match with a record score, securing the house cup prematurely, despite the fact that Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had yet to play their last match. Dumbledore, though, had seen it fit to prepare the trophy for them in advance, so they could celebrate their victory properly. 

As Draco was handed the cup, as the representative for the whole team, it felt almost like an out-of-body experience. He knew he was grinning like a madman, and then he was almost bowled over by his teammates, all of them wanting a piece of the cup and of him.

It was only when strong, familiar arms encased him, pulling him flat against a warm chest that Draco felt a little more grounded. Harry grinned at him, eyes sparkling in a Slytherin green that was matching the scarf he was wearing before he kissed him, deep and lingering. 

“Congrats,” he murmured, against his lips. “You really deserved it.”

“High praise from the rivalling Captain,” Draco chuckled. “I’d have expected you to be at least a little bitter.”

“Oh, please,” Harry scoffed. “You’re so much more important than Quidditch. And there’s always next year. I’ll get you back eventually.”

“You can try,” Draco grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:   
> \- Canon Typical Violence  
> \- Use of Unforgivable Curses


	12. Birthday Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Happy new year! I'm back with a new chapter and the very first smut scene of the series! Starting off 2020 the right way, huh? X'D 
> 
> No, on a serious note, this is the first intimate scene between the boys, and more such scenes will follow in the 7th installment as their relationship develops. I know there might be some people who prefer to skip the explicit parts, and in this chapter, it's perfectly safe to do so. Plot development is not happening while the boys are having their moment. It's all character and relationship development. That is not always true for the 7th installment but if necessary, we could probably figure something out about those scenes when it comes to that. Drop me a comment. 
> 
> For now, please enjoy the current chapter :D

Slytherin’s victory brought with it a weird change of mood within their own house. Some of the older generation was really pissed off, to the point where Yatin got into a fight with Jimmy Higgs, a Pureblood snob from his year, that landed both of them in detention (though Yatin ensured him, quite vehemently, that it had been worth it, for he had gotten a few good punches in).

On the other hand, Carina and Zoe had told them that a couple of first-year girls had given them flowers the morning after the match and then taken off running, deep flushes on their faces. And Viola had reported that she had received an anonymous letter from a younger housemate, telling her how much she’d loved watching her on the pitch and that she was going to try out for the team next year and wanted to be like her someday. 

In general, their house seemed to be crackling with the static of a new age that seemed to terrify some students and thrill others. 

The one who appeared most terrified by this new development was Theodore Nott. If possible, he became even more withdrawn and twitchy. Whenever his eyes met Draco’s, he shrank back visibly, and when Draco entered the dormitory, he would leave. They had not spoken since the incident that had landed Draco in the hospital wing, and he was not sure if he should address it or let it rest. 

Zabini and Pansy, on the other hand, seemed to feel properly guilty for sending him after Nott in the first place. 

“I really thought he’d listen to you,” Pansy told him - for it was Pansy again, all of a sudden, and he wasn’t even sure when that had happened - her feet pulled up on Zabini’s bed as she hugged them miserably to her chest. “I wouldn’t have even suggested asking you if I had known he’d react like that, Draco, I swear.”

“I know,” Draco nodded. “I believe that you had good intentions.”

“I mean, we were all kids together,” she reminded him, with an edge of desperation. “Theo used to braid my bloody  _ hair _ . The two of you would race each other on your toy brooms. I thought that would count for something, in the end.”

“There’s a lot of things playing into this, Pans,” Draco reminded her. “Our parents lives, for one.”

“I  _ know _ ,” she muttered. “Don’t I know it?! That’s why I’ve been so careful in the first place! Because my father is caught up, too, and I can’t just make a run, even if I want to.”

“Why?” Draco asked curiously. “Why do you want to change sides?”

She was silent for a long moment, before looking at him, whispering: “Can’t you imagine what it was like? Having the Chamber of Secrets opened, something that was supposed to be a threat so inherently Slytherin, and then the primary victim was  _ you _ ?”

“I wasn’t a victim,” Draco said, automatically. “I was -”

“You were taken into the Chamber,” Pansy interrupted him. “I don’t care how it came to be, you were a victim, Draco. And it made me think. If that could happen to you, with blood as pure as it could get, then who _was_ safe? Were my parents really right about what they’ve been telling me? Was blood purity and tradition really all that important? Was the Dark Lord really the side to choose, should he ever return? Wouldn’t he kill us all in a minute if we stepped one toe out of line?”

Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The answer was painfully obvious. 

“Blaise’s family was always neutral,” Pansy sighed, glancing at Zabini next to her. “He’s been… helping me navigating this. Keeping up a facade while simultaneously not getting in too deep. It’s been fucking tiresome, and I know I can’t keep it up forever. I have to make the jump at some point. But for that, I need you to keep doing what you’re doing, Draco. You’re keeping open the bridge for people like me.”

Draco gulped and then nodded, a little helplessly. While the tentative admiration of some of his housemates had felt nice, this felt an awful lot like a pressure that Draco wasn’t sure he could withhold.

“Okay, there’s no pressure on you at all,” Harry muttered as Draco confided this very fear to him, pulling Draco more firmly into his side and caressing the back of his neck with sure but gentle fingers. Draco sighed and pressed his face into Harry's throat, relaxing further into him. “You just need to be yourself. That’s how you started inspiring them, and that’s how you’ll continue to do it. End of story.”

“That’s not what it sounds like when they talk about it,” Draco whispered. “It’s like I’m some kind of… ambassador. But Harry, we both know I’m way too fucked up for that.”

“And I’m not too fucked up to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World?” Harry countered, smiling now. 

“No,” Draco argued, petulantly. “You keep a cool head in dangerous situations. You  _ are _ the type of person to finish off a supervillain, as much as I hate the fact that you need to put yourself in such danger. I, on the other hand, am a mess. I panic when things start spiralling out of control. I make bad decisions. Look at the diary.”

“Draco!” Harry groaned. “You were _twelve years old,_ for Merlin’s sake! Stop beating yourself up over something you couldn’t even control!” He held in to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, lingering before he continued, in a more subdued voice: “And it’s not true that I always keep a clear head in difficult situations. What about Sirius? You were the voice of reason there. I should have listened to you, and I didn’t.”

Draco gulped, unsure of how to answer. They never crossed the topic of Sirius’ death, especially in terms of blame. 

“We’re both human, Draco,” Harry continued, not waiting for an answer. “We make choices we wished we could take back, and we make some that inspire others without even intending to. You didn’t choose to be some kind of backwards Pureblood Slytherin figurehead, and I didn’t choose to be the Chosen one, but that’s what we are. And now we need to make the best of it.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Draco confessed, in the relative security of Harry’s embrace.

“Neither do I,” Harry shrugged, kissing the top of his head. “We’ll just have to try. But you’re not alone. We have each other.”

Draco smiled, turning his face to press his lips to Harry’s throat, feeling his pulse beat underneath his skin and thinking that, as long as Harry was at his side, alive and well and loving him as unconditionally as he did, there was little he wouldn’t be able to face.

The year continued crawling towards its end. The students were stuck in the end of year revision, with only the final Quidditch match as a temporary relief from the mounting stress. Despite Slytherin having won the house cup, the second position was still up for combat, and Harry was determined to not give it away to Ravenclaw. He would talk strategies at Draco whenever they had a minute to spare, trying to tickle advice out of his boyfriend, seeing that he had been previously victorious against the team he would be playing, and Draco indulged him, highly amused by the other boy’s antics. 

“Really, all you need to do is keep a cool head around your ex, and you’ve got this,” Draco rolled his eyes, but there must have been something in the tone of his voice because Harry frowned at him and in the next moment, he had pulled him into a possessive kiss. 

“The only one who can put me off my game these days is a certain blond git,” he muttered against his lips, grinning when Draco huffed out a breathy laugh. “I couldn’t care less about what Cho does, as long as she stays far, far away from my Snitch.”

“Well, then,” Draco shrugged, trying hard not to smile too brightly. “I don’t need to check my tea leaves to predict a victory for Gryffindor.”

He had been more than right, in the end. Gryffindor’s victory was solid and Harry’s catch of the Snitch spectacular, and through all his time shared on the pitch with Chang, he did not grant her more than a cursory glance. When he had secured his victory, though, he immediately sought out Draco’s eyes in the crowd, even before he was swallowed in a celebratory huddle by his teammates, and it told Draco all about his current priorities. 

Funny how times changed. 

“You two are really disgusting,” Ryan grinned, though he, too, was sporting a Gryffindor scarf next to him. 

“Shut up,” Draco snorted.

“I think it’s rather sweet,” Luna noted from two seats next to him, only separated through Yurika. “Harry gravitates towards him like a Wrackspurt towards unprotected minds.”

“Um,” Draco blinked. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled, and Yurika bit down on a grin. Draco had not missed that the two of them were holding hands. He had been both surprised, and not surprised at all. 

“You know,” Hermione said conversationally, her smug tone breaking him out of his thoughts, “I remember a time not too long ago when you were so fixated on beating Cho Chang on the Quidditch pitch that you almost cried in your hospital bed -”

“I did not!” Draco called, scandalised, and Ryan laughed loudly.

“And now look at you,” Hermione grinned. “Harry is  _ obsessed _ with you, he won’t stop snogging you all over the castle, much to our despair, you beat her at Quidditch and you even won the cup.”

“Fine, say it,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Say what?” she asked innocently. 

“ _ You told me so,”  _ he deadpanned.

“I did, didn’t I?” she nodded, her tone sweet. “One might conclude you should listen to me more often.”

“Smug minx,” Draco grinned, nudging her shoulder. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Your happiness?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m definitely enjoying that, alright.”

“Harry!” Draco complained, but he was laughing as his boyfriend blindly led him down a corridor. Only minutes ago, Draco had been blindfolded and kidnapped from his position on the grounds outside with Hermione, Weasley, Ginny, Ryan, Luna, Yurika and Longbottom to be led to some mysterious destination by his ridiculously obstinate boyfriend. “You know, if you’re sneaking me into Gryffindor, the blindfold is completely unnecessary. I already know where the entrance is.”

“I’m not sneaking you into Gryffindor. You’re wearing a blindfold because I want to surprise you, so stop being difficult about it,” Harry chuckled, gently pinching him into his side, making Draco twitch. 

“I’ve already been sufficiently surprised,” Draco pointed out. “Besides, why the bother?”

“Because it’s only your bloody  _ birthday,  _ you moron!” Harry snapped, making Draco chuckle. 

Harry  _ had _ been especially attentive towards Draco today, which he thought was very sweet. Yet, he hadn’t really expected a grand gesture beyond that. The thought that Harry had gone through the trouble to prepare something for him made Draco excited. 

“Fine,” Draco gave in, letting Harry lead him up another staircase, step by step. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Harry replied. “One more corridor. Hold on.”

And when they had reached the top of the stairway, they started walking again, Draco having lost complete track of where they were, even which floor they were currently on. He had lost count after the third staircase. 

Finally, Harry told him to stop, and Draco’s hands came up to reach for the blindfold, but Harry quickly caught them in his.

“No,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “Not yet. Now you wait for one moment, okay?”

“You know,” Draco grumbled, and he would have glared at him if not for the blindfold. “I’m a spoiled single-child. I don’t deal well with suspense.”

“Suck it up and be quiet.”

So Draco was, frowning as he listened to Harry’s footsteps. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, not wanting to be left alone, blind and defenceless.

“I’m not leaving you,” Harry ensured him, and his voice was indeed still nearby, so Draco relaxed. 

He listened to Harry’s footsteps for a little while longer, moving from one side to the other and back again a couple of times before he understood what was happening. He bit his lip, though, trying to keep the proud grin from his face. Harry was trying so hard to surprise him. It wouldn’t do to let him know that he’d seen through him at the last moment.

“Okay,” Harry said, appearing at Draco’s side again. “Let’s go.”

He led him into what Draco knew now would be the Room of Requirement. The door fell shut after them, and they were finally, blissfully alone. 

Harry’s arms closed around his waist, his chest aligning with Draco’s back, his chin digging into his shoulder.

“You can take the blindfold off now,” he murmured, and he sounded less playful now, a little more hesitant. 

Draco reached up to tug at the Gryffindor scarf slung over his eyes, pulling it off in one swift move. The room that revealed itself to him was nothing like the room they had used to practice Occlumency or even the room they had used for DA purposes. It was a small, cosy bedroom with a single, luxurious double bed in its centre, dressed in neutral white bedding. A warm fire was burning in the fireplace, bathing the place in a pleasant, soft light, and there were candles placed strategically on small tables in corners of the room, along with flowers that Draco would have teased Harry for if the mood had been right. He realised, though, that the wrong word might feel like a rejection to Harry now, and he was not willing to risk that. 

Instead, he leaned back into Harry’s embrace and rested his head sideways against Harry’s. 

“Do you like it?” Harry asked quietly. “I mean, we once talked about using the room like this, but that was before Nott, and - it just feels ages ago now, and I didn’t want to assume, but -”

“Harry,” Draco interrupted him, turning his head to catch his gaze. “It’s lovely. And perfectly welcome.”

“Yeah?” Harry checked, green eyes wide and unsure. 

“Yes,” Draco smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’ll always want you, Harry.”

Harry made a little noise from the back of his throat, and then, he was kissing Draco. His lips were desperate and demanding, as if he had been starving up until now and Draco was treacle tart of all things. 

Whenever Draco had fantasised about this, he had been in control, because  _ he  _ had been the one pining over Harry for so long that his dreams had mostly consisted of scenarios titled ‘What If I Snapped And Kissed Him’. He had imagined that he would have to do the seducing because that was all his brain could conjure, and even after they had gotten together, the dynamic had somehow stuck to his mental wank bank. 

But what was happening now was completely different. Instead, Harry seemed to be pushing and pulling everywhere at once, a hand untucking his crisp white shirt and sliding underneath, touching the warm skin of his stomach and making goosebumps break out all over his body; another hand was sliding into his hair, fisting the fine, blond strands and deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue against Draco’s with a soft moan. Draco couldn’t even wrap his mind around either one of those things, not to mention all three of them, and then, Harry was pushing at him, walking him towards the bed, all without breaking their kiss, and Draco was helpless to it.

This was so much better than anything his mind could have ever thought up. 

The back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and with a yelp, he tumbled onto the bed, inelegantly sprawling out on top of it. Harry looked stunned as Draco blinked up at him, trying to regain his senses, but then he had the audacity to grin at him. 

“Don’t you dare!” Draco warned, before any teasing could come forward. “It’s your fault for attacking me like that!”

“Can you blame me?” Harry shrugged, very obviously letting his gaze move up and down the length of his body. “God,  _ Draco.  _ I’ve been wanting to touch you for the better part of the year.”

Draco took a shaky breath, an involuntary shiver running through his body. He felt himself harden both at Harry’s words and at the intensity of his gaze, the knowledge of Harry's desire like a hand around his prick. 

“Come here, then,” Draco muttered. “What are you waiting for?”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He shucked his robes on the floor before climbing on the bed with Draco, prodding at him until Draco moved further up the mattress until his head rested on one of the pillows. Harry settled with his knees on both sides of his hips, perched up on one elbow as he cupped Draco’s jaw, pulling him into another possessive kiss that made Draco forget how to draw air into his lungs. 

Harry didn’t linger at his lips, though, instead kissing down his throat to his collarbone, making Draco cling to his shoulders as every nibble, every caress set his nerve ends on fire. When Harry reached the collar of his shirt, though, he held in, sitting up to pull at Draco’s clothes. 

There was a lot of messy, uncoordinated fumbling which Draco was only a passive part of, since Harry was mostly doing the pulling and pushing and Draco let himself be manhandled in whichever direction, but somehow, they got him out of his robes, shirt and tie, leaving Draco’s bare torso for Harry to explore. 

He only held in for a moment, his eyes travelling over Draco’s newly exposed skin as he pulled his own tie over his head and undid the top buttons of his shirt before apparently losing his patience and diving right back in. 

It was hard to keep track of Harry’s hands and lips after that. They seemed to be everywhere at once, though Draco knew, rationally, that this was not possible. Still, by the time Draco managed to push Harry’s shirt off his shoulders, he was already a trembling mess, so much that he had to twist his fingers in Harry’s messy hair and pull his mouth away from where it was currently laving his left nipple, groaning: “Stop,  _ stop _ , Harry, Salazar…”

Harry hummed, reluctantly moving up Draco’s body to find his lips again. Draco wrapped his arms around his bare shoulders, pressing their bodies together, sighing as they met skin to skin. Harry was so  _ warm _ , so perfect, and it felt better than anything he had ever imagined. Harry seemed to agree because he shifted, resting fully against Draco and  _ oh,  _ that was Harry’s erection pressing up against his own and it was making him see stars. 

Harry broke their kiss to rest his lips against Draco’s ear, softly kissing the shell for a moment - Draco shivered - before whispering: “Let me make you feel good?”

Draco bit his lip to keep from groaning again. “I could probably come just like this,” he confessed. “I’m pretty close already.”

“Me too,” Harry smiled. “Still, I want to… Can I?”

Draco had no idea what exactly Harry’s plans were, seeing that Harry wasn’t the most eloquent at the best of times and arousal seemed to eclipse his ability to articulate himself completely, but he nodded, anyway, because he figured that it didn’t matter. Whatever Harry wanted, he was ready for it. 

Harry’s mouth found his again and they kissed for a long minute, making Draco feel tingly all over. Then, his hands found Draco’s trousers, starting to undo the buttons, and Draco’s heart hammered against his chest. Eventually, he nudged Draco’s hips a little, breaking their kiss and looking at him in askance, and Draco flushed and raised his hips to help Harry remove the last articles of his clothing. His boyfriend did so without hesitance, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his pants and trousers and pulling them down in one go. Draco kicked his socks off, too, for good measure. 

He kept his eyes closed, suddenly embarrassed. He had spent the last six years at a boarding school, which meant he was used to baring himself in front of other boys, but that was never in such an intimate context. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious in front of Harry.

He jerked when Harry’s warm fingers brushed his hip but quickly calmed down when the comforting weight of his body settled half on top of his legs, his cheek resting against his stomach. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me?”

Draco did. He opened his eyes and glanced down at where Harry lay sprawled across the lower half of his body, watching his face. His dark hair was a complete mess and his skin was flushed and he looked so good that Draco couldn’t help but reach out to touch him. Harry leaned into his hand like a cat, demanding it, and it made Draco smile.

“All good?” Harry asked finally, still watching him.

“More than,” Draco breathed, quite sincerely. 

“Great,” Harry grinned. “Will you spread your legs a little for me? This isn’t comfortable.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Draco nodded, moving enough for Harry to settle between his thighs. 

“Thanks,” Harry smirked up at him, now perfectly on level with his still straining erection. “This is perfect.”

“Yes?” Draco asked, eyes wide. “You sure?”

“Very,” Harry emphasised and, without hesitation, brought one hand up to catch Draco’s shaft in his palm.

Draco moaned in surprise, his head falling back against the pillow at the sensation. The touch was light but it felt so much better than his own hand already. And then, Harry fisted the base and all of a sudden, lips closed around the tip of his prick.

Draco’s eyes flew open and he arched up, gasping. Harry pulled away hastily, using his free hand to restrain his hip. 

“Hold still,” he admonished, quite breathless.

“Sorry,” Draco panted. “I just - Merlin’s pants, warn a guy next time, will you?! I was not expecting  _ that!” _

“What did you think I was doing down here?” Harry asked, and his grin was taunting. “Counting your pubic hair?”

“Shut it!” Draco called, embarrassed.

“With pleasure,” Harry pointed out. “I was going to occupy my mouth otherwise, if you have no further objections.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. He threw his arm over his eyes to hide his face from Harry. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Stop talking and let me suck your cock,” Harry ordered. 

So Draco did. He held his tongue and tried to stay still as Harry put his mouth back onto his erection, even though Draco felt like he was going to explode from the sensation. Or come on the spot. One of the two. 

Harry started out slowly, taking just the tip into his mouth and working his tongue against it experimentally, teasing the slit and the underside. Then, he took Draco in a little further, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around what he couldn’t cover, and Draco felt it all through his body. It was as if Harry was touching him everywhere at once, and yet, all his blood seemed to be rushing towards his groin, his whole world shrinking down to where Harry was working him, slowly but steadily picking up speed. Draco twisted his fingers in the covers underneath him, trying to steady himself, but it was no use - he was quickly crashing, and there was nothing to cushion his fall. Heat was pooling in his belly, hot like lava, and Harry’s thumb ran gentle circles along the skin of his hip, making him quiver with the additional stimulation. He brought his own hand up to cover Harry’s, his fingers trembling, and then, Harry’s tongue brushed his slit in an upwards movement, making him jerk and squeeze his fingers tightly.

“Harry,” he breathed. “I’m going to -”

Harry did not stop, despite the warning. Instead, he moved down on him again, hollowing his cheeks, and that was all it took. 

Draco cried out from the force of his orgasm. It was so intense that he lost all sense of self for a while, overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated pleasure. When his mind cleared again, Harry’s cheek was resting against his stomach again. His fingers were intertwined with his own, and he lazily smiled up at him, looking very self-satisfied. 

“Harry birthday,” he said, grinning. 

Draco huffed out a laugh, still breathless. He tugged at Harry’s hand. “Come here,” he demanded, and Harry came easily, crawling up Draco’s body to kiss him. Draco could taste himself on Harry’s tongue, and it was strangely thrilling. 

He could also feel Harry’s still hard prick pressed against his hip, so he broke the kiss to glance up at him.

“You want me to return the favour?” he asked.

“I would come in three seconds,” Harry chuckled. “Maybe you could just touch me, for now?”

“With pleasure,” Draco hummed, smiling as he caught Harry’s lips in another kiss.

Harry was still wearing his trousers, and Draco made quick work of belt and buttons before he pushed them down enough so he could fit his hand around Harrys erection. He had no patience to undress Harry all the way, right now. He was still buzzing from his own orgasm, and he didn’t want to move from this position.

Harry seemed to agree with Draco's assessment because he made a low noise of approval and turned to press his face into Draco’s neck. His trembling fingers came up to Draco’s hair, not fisting in desperation as he had expected, but carding through it gently, just feeling it. 

Harry’s prick was warm and heavy in Draco’s hand. The skin was impossibly soft and he was so, so hard. He ran his thumb over the tip experimentally, making Harry draw a shaky breath, and then, he started moving his hand. 

Harry brought their lips together again, the kiss messy, uncoordinated, as Draco touched him and Harry shivered. Harry hadn’t been lying. It didn’t take long at all, but that was fine, was  _ exhilarating,  _ knowing that giving him pleasure had worked Harry so much that he had found himself so close to the brink.

When Harry came, he said Draco’s name, and it unlocked a place deep inside Draco’s heart, flooding it with warmth and so many emotions that they became tangled up and difficult to name. He clung to Harry as the other came down from his high, not caring that his hand was messy and sticky, too overcome.

As Harry’s brain cells regrouped, he hesitantly moved out of Draco’s embrace. Draco tried to not stop him, to school his expression, but he was relieved when Harry just scrambled for his wand, cast a cleaning charm on them and proceeded to kick his remaining clothing off all the way. Then, he shook out the covers for them to slip underneath and pulled Draco against him. Draco went willingly, greedily slinging his arms around Harry’s waist and resting his head against his shoulder. Harry’s fingers came up to Draco’s hair, carding through it again, and he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“So,” he muttered. “That was amazing.”

“It was,” Draco whispered. 

“Sometimes, I feel monumentally stupid for dragging us out this long,” Harry confessed, pressing his lips to Draco’s eyebrow this time. “You’re so perfect.  _ We _ are so perfect together. And we could have had it for years if I hadn’t been so blind.”

“But maybe the wait just made it all the more intense?” Draco said quietly. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been this good two years ago.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Harry sighed, pressing another kiss to the bridge of his nose, his fingers still playing with Draco’s hair. It made him shiver.

“You are sort of obsessed with my hair,” he pointed out, smiling a little. “I noticed before but it’s especially bad today.”

“Your hair is so soft,” Harry chuckled, completely unapologetic. “I’ve been pressing down on the urge to touch it for a while.”

“Good to know.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Harry rested his lips against Draco’s forehead - not kissing, just touching. 

“You know,” Draco whispered, unable to help himself. “I always imagined this, but I never really thought I could have this. Not  _ really _ , you know?”

Harry’s hand stilled in his hair for a moment, before it picked up its soothing motions again. He did not answer at first. Then, he said, very slowly: “You’ll always have me, Draco. It took me a while to get here, and I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but one way or another, you’re always going to  _ have _ me. I’ll always be with you. Okay?”  
  
Draco nodded and let Harry’s warmth envelop him, trying not to think bad thoughts. 


	13. The Vanishing Cabinet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, and the ending is near, as you can tell. Things are going to blow up in this chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy Draco's role in all of it. Happy reading!

Draco had been out with Harry, his head comfortably pillowed on his lap as he read through his Potions notes and Harry’s fingers threading absentmindedly through his hair, as Colin Creevey came running towards them.

“Harry!” he yelped, his face flushed from running. “I’ve got a message from Professor Dumbledore for you! He wants you to come to his office immediately!”

Both of them tensed instantly. Harry’s hand stopped its movements.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Draco asked, despite himself.

“No,” Creevey shook his hand. “Just that it was urgent.”

Harry caught Draco’s eyes. The look he gave him was laced with meaning. Dumbledore had most probably found a Horcrux; they both knew it. 

Hesitantly, Draco straightened himself, returning to a sitting position and allowing Harry to stand, but not without giving Draco a kiss in parting. 

“Let me know,” Draco said, under his breath.

“I’ll try,” Harry promised, and then he was gone, making his way up to the castle. Creevey followed, a little awkwardly. 

Draco lingered at the spot they’d left him only for a moment before returning to the school as well, making his way up to his dormitory. He would snatch some books and the enchanted parchment and hole himself up at the library until Harry contacted him, then maybe - 

But his train of thought crashed when he reached the corridor to his dormitory. The door to the sixth year dorm stood ajar, and he could hear a voice spilling from it - a very familiar voice, and it was laughing. 

The laughter wasn’t of the pleasurable kind. It was shrill and high-pitched, hysterical, with an edge of desperation in it, and Draco could swear it was interlaced with little sobs and sniffs. 

Draco halted, considering his options. He couldn’t confront Nott. He had done that, and it hadn’t ended well. But he couldn’t ignore it either, could he? He knew Nott was working for the Dark Lord. He had a responsibility to his own side, at the very least. 

He acted without making the conscious decision to. He slipped the invisibility cloak out of his pocket - he had never returned it to Harry, who had insisted he kept it around for now, after what had happened with Nott - and covered himself with it. Then, keeping his steps as silent as he could, he creeped into the room, wand drawn. 

Nott was sitting on his bed, face in his hands. He was obviously having some sort of nervous breakdown, and that didn’t bode well for them. 

Draco knew there was no subtle way to do it. Nott would realise. But he had to _know._ He would never forgive himself if something happened and he could have stopped it. So he trained his wand on Nott and whispered, under his breath: “ _Legilimens.”_

Nott’s wards were down, as he knew they would be - he was too emotional, and he was not expecting an attack, thinking he was alone. It was easy for Draco to dive into his mind, even without eye contact, and he quickly found flashes of him entering the Room of Requirement, over and over again, trying to fix some sort of cupboard - a  _ Vanishing Cabinet _ , the one Fred and George had stuffed Montague into last year… The twin was owned by Borgin at his shop, and he was keeping it around for Nott to create a bridge into Hogwarts, so the Death Eaters could enter… And he had done it. The Cabinet was finally fixed, and they were coming, tonight, and -

Nott cried out and Draco was flung out of Nott’s mind, wards up again. Nott was on his feet, wand in his hand, eyes wide as he scanned the room. 

“Where are you?!” he called, but Draco was not sticking around for Nott to find him. He was already retreating, as quietly and as quickly as possible. Just as he was turning around the corner, Nott was firing a curse at the door, but Draco was too fast. 

He was running down the corridor, and out of the Slytherin quarters, all the way up to Dumbledore’s office. Only when he reached the gargoyles did he pull off the invisibility cloak, realising that he had no idea about the password.

“Fuck!” he called. “ _ Please _ let me in! There’s something I need to tell the Headmaster.”

“Not without a password,” the statue told him, its voice bored. 

“Oh, come on!” Draco yelled. “Harry Potter is in there  _ right now,  _ I know he is! We’re basically a package deal! If you can let him in, you can let me -”

But at that moment, the Gargoyles moved, much to his surprise, revealing a staircase. Harry came hurrying down, halting when he spotted Draco.

“What are you doing here?” he blinked.

“I need to speak to Dumbledore,” Draco told him urgently. “I just used Legilimency on Nott, and he found a way to let Death Eaters into the castle.  _ Tonight. _ ”

“Bloody  _ hell,”  _ Harry muttered, but he grabbed Draco’s arm and turned on his heels, pulling him up the stairs towards Dumbledore’s office. 

Harry’s knock was only perfunctory as he reached the door. He immediately pushed in, Draco on his heels. The headmaster stood behind the desk, looking up in surprise.

“That was fast,” he noted, then frowned. “Mr Malfoy?”

“Sir, Draco has something important to tell you,” Harry announced, his fingers still like a vice around Draco’s elbow, and Draco took a shaky breath as he tried to find his voice.

“Professor Dumbledore, I just ran into Theodore Nott in my dormitory,” he explained. “And he was acting very strangely, which scared me. I’ve known for a while that he’s been acting on the Dark Lord’s orders, so I decided to use Legilimency on him, and I found out that he plans to help Death Eaters enter the school tonight. There’s a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, which he fixed, and now it creates a bridge between Borgin & Burkes and Hogwarts. He plans to act tonight.”

Silence met his words. Dumbledore was looking at Draco very closely, scanning his face. Then, he nodded.

“Thank you very much for telling me this, Draco,” he said. “It will help me set up the proper protection for this school before Harry and I leave.”

Draco blinked. Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“We’re still leaving?!” He called, incredulous. “You can’t seriously be thinking of leaving the school when Death Eaters are about to -”

“The school will be anything but unprotected, Harry, I promise you,” Dumbledore interrupted him. “The teachers will be alarmed so they can protect the students, and additional Order members will be present. But our mission is vital, Harry, and we need to finish it tonight. If something happens -” Dumbledore’s lips thinned, then he shook his head. “It has to be tonight. We will just have to hurry back.”

Harry was trembling with disagreement. Draco could feel it from his position next to him. But he did not voice it. Rather, he nodded. 

“Good,” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, please get your invisibility cloak. We really need to hurry.”

Draco was about to open his mouth, but Harry’s hand tightened around his arm. They left the office together, not speaking until they were well out of hearing distance. 

“Harry…?” Draco asked finally when they were halfway down the corridor.

“Get the cloak out and put it on,” he instructed. “You’re coming into Gryffindor with me.”

“What? Why?” Draco asked.

“Because I need to get something and I need to talk to Ron and Hermione and we don’t have  _ time _ , Draco!” Harry snapped, his eyes wide. “Just do as I say, okay?” 

For once, Draco listened. He pulled out the cloak and slipped underneath it, following close behind Harry as they hurried all the way up towards the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry threw the password at her and she swung aside, allowing them entrance. He slowed down a little now, allowing Draco to stay close as he tracked down Hermione and Weasley, who were sitting together on a sofa in front of the fireplace. Draco had no time to appreciate the cosiness of the Gryffindor common room before Harry had already gathered their friends and directed them towards his dormitory, glancing behind himself as if he could somehow make sure Draco was following. 

He held the door open behind himself and only when Draco pulled the cloak off himself, making Hermione and Weasley gasp, did Harry let it fall shut.

“Okay,” Harry began, his voice firm and his words rushed. “We have no time, so listen to me. Dumbledore wants me to accompany him to retrieve a Horcrux, but this means he’s going to leave tonight, and Draco just found out that Nott has found a way to help Death Eaters enter the school.”

“He did what?!” Hermione shrieked, the same moment Weasley muttered, eyes wide: “Merlin’s bollocks… Does Dumbledore know?” 

“He does, but he wants to leave anyway,” Harry said grimly. “Thinks the school is sufficiently protected with the teachers and the Order. I disagree. Which is why -” and at that, Harry turned to cross the room, opening his trunk to rummage through it. He returned with a number of things. “- I want you to contact everyone you can gather from the DA.”

“The - Harry, are you sure?” Draco blinked. “This would be putting everyone in danger.”

“Do you want Nott to succeed in whatever he’s doing?” Harry demanded, his voice harsh. “Because I don’t!”

“Well, no,” Draco sighed. “Alright, fine.”

“Good. Here,” Harry said, shoving the Marauder’s map at him. “Keep an eye on Nott. Maybe you can stop him before anything even happens. And this,” he held up a small, familiar bottle containing a golden potion, “I want you to share between the three of you. Less chance of you getting hurt.”

“Now, wait a moment!” Draco called. “We have no idea what you’ll be faced with! You might need it more than us!” 

“Draco is right, Harry,” Hermione nodded, looking scared. “We don’t want it, you take it!”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be with Dumbledore!” Harry waved them off impatiently. “I want to know you lot are okay… Don’t look at me like that, Hermione, I’ll see you later…”

He turned to Draco again, taking the cloak from him and draping it over him again, making him splutter. “Come on, I’ll bring you out of here. You two, try to send messages to the DA with those coins, and meet Draco outside, okay?”

Hermione and Weasley nodded, thunderstruck, and then Harry was pushing an invisible Draco back out the door and into the hallway. Only a minute later, they left through the portrait hole, and Draco tore the cloak from his head. 

“I don’t like this,” he deadpanned.

“Big surprise,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Neither do I, but we don’t really have a choice right now, do we?”

Draco didn’t answer, and then, he was grabbing the front of Harry’s robes and pulling him into a deep kiss. The Fat Lady cleared her throat delicately behind them, but Draco ignored her. 

“Come back safely, arsehole,” Draco breathed when he pulled back. “I’ll never forgive you if you get yourself killed.”

“Same,” Harry sent him a soft smile. “You’d better be in one piece when I return, Draco, or I swear I’ll find a way to make you regret it.”

“Noted,” Draco grinned, despite himself. He handed him the cloak. “Now, off you run. And get us a Horcrux.”

“Will do,” Harry shrugged sheepishly, and then he retreated, leaving Draco to stare after him with mounting dread.

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open once more only a minute after Harry had left, revealing a dishevelled Hermione. 

“Ron is following later, he’s tracking down whatever Gryffindors he can find,” she told him, pushing the almost empty bottle of Felix Felicis at him. “Drink up. Ron and I already took our mouthful.”

Draco nodded, uncorking the bottle and drowning it. The effect was immediate and stunning - euphoria flooded his veins, despite the seriousness of the situation, along with confidence and calmness. He raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who gave him a meaningful look.

“Come on,” she said, nodding in the direction of the staircase, and Draco fell into step with her. “We’re meeting Luna on the way to the Room of Requirement. Can you track down Nott?”

Draco pulled out his wand and tapped it onto the still blank map, muttering: “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” The contents of the map revealed themselves immediately and Draco scanned it as he walked, quickly coming to the conclusion that Nott was nowhere to be found. 

“We’re too late,” he sighed. “He’s already at the Room of Requirement.”

“So much for Harry’s plan,” she muttered. 

“We can still help to try and stop them,” Draco shrugged as they turned the corner, heading for the room. “If we head off Nott, he might never be able to complete his mission, and maybe then I can convince him to change sides, as I’d originally - Wait, what are you all doing here?”

They had found Luna, but she was not alone. Yurika was standing next to her, currently tying her sleek, black hair into a ponytail, and Ryan had his arms crossed, expression uncharacteristically serene. Abbas was fiddling with his tie, and Zoe and Carina were leaning against each other as if looking for comfort from the other twin. Viola had what Draco had lovingly dubbed her ‘bitch face’ on, and Yatin was having a mouthy discussion with one of the portraits. 

“Oh, you’re not the only one who has means of communication across common rooms,” Luna said cheerfully. “As soon as I got your message, I contacted Yurika, and she brought the lot.”

“Right,” Viola asked. “Who do we have to kill?”

“Oh, just a couple of Death Eaters,” Draco replied, a little faintly. “Nott found a way to let them into the school, so we’re going to stop them.”

“So  _ this  _ is the kind of thing you guys do while we Slytherins sleep obliviously in our beds?” Ryan asked, looking miffed. “Well, that just won’t do. I want a coin, too. You’ll let us in on the fun now, do you hear me?”

“Fine, you’ll get a coin,” Hermione said consolingly. “But we don’t have time right now. Ron will be on the way with the other Gryffindors any moment, and we need to get to the Room of Requirement right now, before Nott -”

“The  _ what,  _ now?” Yatin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Long story,” Draco shook his head. “Just follow me. Stop Nott with any means available, blow down every Death Eater in your path, and by Salazar, don’t get yourself killed!”

“Gotcha,” Yurika nodded, her ponytail bobbing. “Lead the way, Captain.”

So together, they marched the remaining distance towards the Room of Requirement. Somewhere in his mind, Draco realised what an odd group they made - a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, and eight Slytherins, but then again, usually, he was the only Slytherin in a mop of Gryffindors, so he figured it made for a nice change. 

When they reached the corridor with the painting of Barnabas the Barmy, they quickly realised they were not the first to arrive, though - the entrance to the room was already carefully guarded by Order members: Draco saw Bill first, with his bright red hair, and then Dora, because she was standing next to him. Kingsley was positioned at the window, talking to a doe Patronus, and Lupin was facing them, his sagged face staring in horror as he watched them approach. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” he bellowed, making everyone jump. “You’re supposed to be in your common rooms! The teachers are just locking everything up to keep you students safe!”

“Well, tough luck,” Draco shrugged. “We figured you could use back up.”

“Back up?” Lupin repeated, staring at him. “No offence, Draco, I know you’re talented, but  _ you _ don’t count as back up.”

“I was the one who looked into Nott’s mind,” Draco countered, and he knew, somewhere deep down, that the only reason that he was standing up to Lupin this way was because of the potion running through his system. “I am the only one who knows  _ exactly _ what he planned. All you got was a third-hand report from Dumbledore.”

“He’s got a point, Remus,” Dora muttered, watching him with obvious discomfort. 

“We can’t let them stay, Tonks!” Lupin yelled, turning on her. “They might get killed!”

“We can’t exactly send them back to their dorms, either,” Kingsley frowned. “I got the report from Snape. They’ve been sealed. He is on the way here.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s -”

That’s how far he came before he was interrupted by the sound of rushed footsteps, and Weasley turned around the corner, Ginny, Longbottom and for some unfathomable reason, Demelza Robins, Harry’s Chaser who hadn’t even been part of the DA in the first place, on his heels. 

Lupin looked like he was ready to explode. 

“Is there any way we can just pack the lot of them into the Great Hall and seal it?” he asked, through clenched teeth.

“And who will do that?” Dora snorted. “We’re short of people as it is. We don’t know how many Death Eaters will come, after all, and they might be here any moment.”

Lupin threw up his hands.

“So let us help,” Weasley said eagerly. “We know our spells, and we want to.”

“You’re students!” Lupin called. “You’re underage!”

“I’m not,” Viola shrugged. “And neither is Yatin. Can we vouch for our fellow Slytherins?”

“No, you cannot, Ms Richmond!” Lupin snapped. 

“Lupin,” Snape’s voice drawled as he turned across the corner. “What in Salazar’s name are you shouting ab-” Then he froze, staring, and Draco admitted, it must have been quite a sight - all these Gryffindors, Slytherins and a single Ravenclaw escaped from their confinements, ready to battle Death Eaters. “There are not enough House Points to take,” Snape muttered, blinking. “Someone explain.”

For once, no Slytherin volunteered. Better to leave that to the Gryffindors. He already hated them, anyway. Only the Gryffindors seemed to disagree and think this was a Slytherin matter, so it was Luna who ended up speaking, remarkably calm as she informed Snape: “We are helping you fight the Death Eaters.”

“Are you now?” Snape asked, his tone sharp as a blade. “And who ordered you to do that?”

“Well,” Luna said, frowning and looking at Hermione for help. “Harry, I assume?”

Draco flinched. That had been the wrong thing to say, and the sour look on Snape’s face confirmed it.

“And what authority,” he ground out,” does Harry Potter have to send all his friends into mortal danger?”

Before any of them could answer, though, a sound startled them out of their argument. Someone was turning the doorknob to the Room of Requirement, from the inside. 

“They’re coming,” Dora hissed, raising her wand.

“Everyone, into position,” Kingsley called. 

“You lot, stay back!” Lupin called. “And for Merlin’s sake, keep your wand at the ready!”

And so they did. Draco was clutching his wand, pointing it at the door, and next to him, he saw Hermione do the same. On his other side, Abbas’ hand was trembling a little but he was standing with his head held high. 

And then the door opened, and Nott stood there, holding a strange, shrivelled device in the form of a hand. Draco faintly recognised it from one of his early visits to Borgin & Burkes with his father. Was it called Hand of Glory, or something along those lines? He knew it was used by smugglers. 

And then, Nott threw something up in the air, and everything went black.

_ Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. _

Draco cursed. Hermione’s hand felt for him and caught onto his arm, holding on. A curse cut through the darkness, but they couldn’t be sure who threw it or whether it connected. There was movement, and Draco was sure that Nott was escaping with the Death Eaters. What had he read about the Hand of Glory when he was a child? Gives light only to the holder?

“We need to get out of here,” he told Hermione.

“How?” she called, her voice panicky.

“Abbas!” he yelled. 

“Yes?” the other boy called, his voice shaky, and Draco reached blindly into his direction until his hand connected with something. A shoulder. “Take my hand,” he said, and Abbas did. “Is anyone next to you?” 

“There was Zoe, I think - Zoe?” 

“I’m here!”

“Good! Hold onto each other! Let’s all find each other and then get the fuck out of here!”

That’s how they did it, eventually. Zoe held onto her sister, who held onto Viola, who held onto Yatin, who held onto Ryan, who held onto Yurika, who held onto Luna. The Gryffindor party was too far out of their reach, but Draco hoped that they’d somehow find their own way back. After all, Ginny was with them. Ginny was smart enough for all of them. 

Draco had a vague sense of direction, and the potion did the rest. He led them out of the corridor safely, until the total darkness lifted and they stumbled into the light, panting.

“Oh my god,” Yatin panted. “I’ll never take my eyes for granted again.”

“Where the fuck did that little shit Nott go?” Viola demanded, looking vicious. “I’ll give him a good hex for blinding us!”

“Where are the others?” Ryan asked, looking over his shoulder, but at that moment, Ginny broke out of the darkness, arm in arm with Dora. She was followed by Weasley, Lupin, Longbottom, Kingsley, Robins and Bill. Ryan immediately moved towards Ginny, only to be pushed hard in the shoulder by her.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” she demanded. “You’re not even part of the DA!”

“Just became honorary member,” he grinned. “Plus, I always wanted to play knight in shining armour.”

“Don’t you  _ dare!” _ she glared. “I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t I know it,” he snorted, but he slung his arm around her anyway, and she let him. Draco saw Bill grin in the background. “Now, let’s hunt down some Death Eaters, shall we?”

“Where’s Snape?” Kingsley asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Lupin shook his head. “Maybe he managed to follow them. I couldn’t locate him with my spell.”

“Fine,” Kingsley muttered. “Let’s just go and see if we can find them before they do whatever they came here for.”

There was a flurry of movement, and through all of it, Lupin caught Draco’s eyes. 

“There’s no chance that you’re going to back down, even if I ask you to, right?” he sighed, sounding pained. 

“Sorry,” Draco shrugged. “But this is sort of - the place to be for me, tonight?”

“Fine,” Lupin rolled his eyes. “Don’t get yourself killed, do you hear me?! I’m not explaining that to your mother.”

“I’ll try my best,” Draco grinned, falling into step next to Lupin. 

Draco pulled out the map as they walked, scanning it for the Death Eaters' points, quickly finding them scattered through the corridors surrounding the Astronomy tower, apparently battling some of the teachers. Nott had made it to the top of the tower, Snape in tow.

“This way,” Draco told Lupin, showing him the map, and Lupin glanced at it before calling out to the others, pointing them into the right direction. 

When they arrived at the scene of combat, it was pure chaos. The teachers were hopelessly outnumbered but holding their own admirably, firing spell after spell to protect themselves against the attacks of the Death Eaters. They didn’t hesitate to jump to their aid. Lupin and Draco were closest to Professor McGonagall, who was fighting three people at once - Draco had seen them before, in passing, but couldn’t recall their names - so they joined her side, making the fight more even. 

“Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall called, somehow managing to still sound stern despite her breathlessness. “Why are you not in your dormitory?!”

“Long story,” Draco replied, deflecting a curse with a shield charm.

“Honestly,” she snapped, firing a curse at one of her attackers, barely missing. “Potter is not even in the castle, and you  _ still _ manage to get yourself in trouble!”

“Believe me, Minerva, I had that conversation with him and all his friends,” Lupin muttered, rather grimly. His curse at least grazed the Death Eater he was aiming for. “They would  _ not _ listen.”

“How many of them are out of bed?!” she demanded, sounding appalled. 

“Twelve or Thirteen?” Draco guessed, frowning. “Don’t make me count, I’m sort of concentrating.” And then he fired a stunning curse right at the Death Eater closest to him, hitting him right in the chest. He went down like a sack of potatoes. “Ha!” Draco called, triumphant. 

“Well, don’t expect house points!” McGonagall hissed, deflecting the vicious curse that was sent after them in response with an authoritative:  _ “Protego!” _

The remaining two Death Eaters were fired up now, though. They kept blasting spell after spell against their defences, giving them no space for an attack. 

“Okay,” Lupin muttered, “I’m going to lower my shield just for a moment, and then I’ll -”

But he didn’t have to because, at that moment, various things happened at once: On one side, the first Death Eater was hit by two spells at once, falling flat on his face before he could even put up a defence. On the other side, the second Death Eater suddenly held in, seemingly confused, only to then drop to the floor as if his strings had been cut. Behind the bodies emerged Ginny and Ryan as well as Luna and Yurika. Luna looked like she could have stumbled upon the scene by accident. Yurika was frowning at the Death Eater as if he had personally offended her. Ryan was kicking the Death Eater he had taken out, probably to check he was really unconscious. Ginny was looking at them, her head slightly tilted in question.

“You alright there?” she checked.

“Brilliant, thanks to you,” Draco grinned. 

“Merlin, it’s happening,” McGonagall muttered behind him. “Severus always told me the Gryffindors were going to corrupt the Slytherins on a large scale because of Potter but did I listen? No.”

“Professor, no offence, but we just saved your life,” Ryan grinned at her. “Leave the lamenting for another day, okay?”

McGonagall glowered at him, but then there was some kind of explosion further down the corridor and they all whirled around. Dora, Flitwick, Viola, Yatin, Abbas, Demelza and Hermione were all locked in a major fight with about four Death Eaters, and one of their curses had just crashed into the East Wall, throwing bricks everywhere. Lupin was already running towards them, but Draco stayed where he was, figuring their odds were already good enough. Instead, he turned to McGonagall.

“Did you see Nott and Snape pass?” he asked.

“Yes,” McGonagall frowned, and she turned to point at the staircase leading towards the Astronomy tower. “But you can’t follow them. They warded it.”

“What?” Draco called, eyes widening.

“Pomona tried to go through earlier, but there was no way,” McGonagall shook her head. “We think you need to be marked by You-Know-Who to pass. That’s why Severus could follow. We’ll have to trust him.”

Draco nodded, biting his lip. That didn’t sit quite right with him, but he knew there was no way around it, and then, more Death Eaters approached him and McGonagall, and there was no time to ponder the matter. 

Draco turned towards the new arrival, and his eyes widened - the man approaching him was large and seemed to be covered with unruly grey hair, making him look animalistic. It didn’t help that he was bearing his teeth at Draco, which were pointy and had fresh blood running from them. 

For the first time, fear spiked through the haze the potion had created. 

“Well, well,” the man drawled, and even his voice didn’t sound quite human, “if that isn’t Draco Malfoy.”

Draco turned his head to look for McGonagall, but she had disappeared, locked into her own fight already. He was all alone. 

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while,” the man said, taking another step closer to him. Draco took a step back. “I heard so much about you, you see.”

“Did you?” Draco said, despite himself. “All bad, I hope.”

The man laughed, and it ran chills down Draco’s spine.

“You’ve got backbone,” he praised. “Unlike your father. Too bad I have to kill you. But I’m sure you’ll taste all the juicier for it… The Weasley boy was most delicious, too, after all.”

Draco felt a wave of nausea now, and he couldn’t help but look around until he found a body lying on the ground not far from the staircase to the Astronomy tower. Bill.

“It’s a good night for me,” the man mused, and Draco was starting to connect the dots, was starting to realise who he was faced with, and he was clinging to his wand, trying to remember any spell that was strong enough to repel a werewolf, when -

“Don’t you dare touch him, Greyback,” Lupin growled, stepping in front of Draco, wand drawn. His shoulders were tense and he was vibrating with fury in a way Draco had never seen before.

“Remus Lupin,” Greyback appraised, raising his eyebrows. “Look at you. Didn’t turn your back on Dumbledore, after all.”

“You didn’t really think I was going to follow you and that psychopath,” Lupin snorted. “He killed some of my closest friends. And you condemned me to this life. I’ll never align myself with the likes of you.”

“Oh, right,” Greyback grinned, looking quite self-satisfied. “I did that.” Then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. Your death, not mine.”

And next thing Draco knew, Lupin and Greyback were locked in a fierce duel, and it was all Draco could do to stumble out of range to not be hit by any stray curses. He almost stumbled right into the next Death Eater, and this one, he knew by name, though he had also only heard it in passing: Yaxley. He had once delivered something to the Manor while Draco was there for the holidays, and Draco had heard him and his father talking. 

Yaxley seemed to have had a similar thought because he sneered and immediately fired a curse at Draco. He ducked, only just getting out of the way before firing his own spell. Yaxley, though, was vicious. He kept firing curse after curse, giving Draco barely enough time to deflect. 

And then, a Stunning Spell that Draco had not cast hit Yaxley right in the chest, making him sink to the floor. Draco whirled around, ready to thank his saviour, and gaping when Harry whirled past him, running through the mass of fighting people. 

“Harry!” Draco called and didn’t hesitate to follow after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Sorry for the cliffhanger! To be continued in two weeks time, as usual! Two chapters left.
> 
> Also, before anyone starts criticising my choice to let Nott take up the exact same plan as Draco: I did it intentionally. It's not lack of creativity - it's the irony of fate.


	14. Out of Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with the second to last chapter of this installment, taking off where we left it in the last chapter! Not gonna say much here, but I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Harry didn’t stop to let him catch up, and it was only then that Draco realised that he was chasing someone - at the far end of the corridor, he could see a tall, long-haired figure with billowing robes, and a shorter, narrower figure with short hair in school uniform. 

_ Snape and Nott.  _

Draco noticed that the battles he was racing through were slowly breaking up, too. The Death Eaters were retreating, joining Snape, and Draco was panicking. Had Nott accomplished his mission?  _ What _ had he done? Where was Dumbledore? When had he and Harry returned?

Harry followed the retreating Death Eaters down staircase after staircase and Draco tore after them, his heart racing. On the last staircase to the Entrance Hall, Draco heard various explosions, the shattering of glass, the crashing of stones, and when he reached the scene, he realised that two Death Eaters - the Carrows, he believed they were called, brother and sister - had taken it upon themselves to smash the hourglasses displaying the house points. The coloured gemstones were scattered all over the floor, along with the glass, and Harry was just sliding out of the door, having overtaken them. 

They looked up when they saw Draco, though, and grinned at each other. Draco immediately realised that, while they probably had orders not to touch Harry Potter, no such orders existed for Draco Malfoy. 

“Well, look who came to play,” the woman leered, twisting her wand.

Draco had no patience for this. He fired a blasting spell at the ground in front of them, making the glass and the stones fly up into their faces. They screamed, covering their eyes, and it gave Draco just enough time to navigate past them, minding the slippery floor, and slip outside. 

As he stepped out onto the front steps, he quickly surveyed his surroundings, and let out a gasp at what he saw: Hagrid’s hut was burning, large clouds of smoke rising up from it and disappearing into the darkness. Not far from the scene, Harry was on the ground, wand out of his hand, and Snape was leaning over him. He immediately knew that the display was threatening. Maybe the remainders of the potion running through his system were telling him.

Draco did not think. He started to run. In his momentum, he fired a stunning spell at Snape, but his teacher must have seen him approach because he deflected his magic easily and countered it with a disarming spell, leaving Draco wandless, too. He did not stop running, though, and before he knew it, he was on the ground with Harry, throwing himself across his chest.

“If you want to kill him, you have to kill me first,” he panted, glaring up at Snape.

He heard Harry garble something underneath him, probably a protest, but he elbowed him in the ribs. 

Something about his actions seemed to snap Snape out of whatever craze he had been in. He stared at Draco for a long moment, and then he stepped backwards, pulling back his wand. He shook himself, as if trying to dislocate a memory. And then, he turned his back on them and took off into the forest without another word. 

They lay there for another moment, just breathing heavily, before Harry whispered, incredulously: “Draco, what the  _ hell?!” _

“Well,” Draco said, turning to face him, eyes wide, “I wasn’t going to let him kill you!”

“So you were going to let him kill  _ you?!”  _ Harry demanded, green eyes blazing with emotion.

“I wasn’t  _ thinking _ , okay, I just panicked!”

_ “Obviously _ you weren’t thinking!” Harry yelled, pushing out from underneath his body, his expression twisted in fury. “Don’t you  _ dare _ try this again! I don’t need more people I love sacrificing their life for me, do you hear me?!”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Draco muttered, properly chastised. “It was a reflex.”

“ _ A reflex _ ,” he hissed, but his voice cracked, and Draco realised that he was shaking.

“Harry?” Draco said softly, reaching out for him. He touched his shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. I just -”

In that moment, though, Hagrid emerged from his burning house, Fang in his arms, striking Draco properly dumb because he had not even realised Hagrid was still  _ inside _ . Merlin’s balls. 

They did not speak as they helped Hagrid extinguish the fire on his house, but Draco kept glancing at Harry. He looked  _ horrible _ . Pale and sickly in a way that reminded Draco of the night Sirius had died, and it did not bode well. This couldn’t have been just the shock of Draco’s instinctive urge to sacrifice himself for Harry. He had to be missing some vital piece of information.

“‘S not too bad,” Hagrid muttered, voice hopeful as he surveyed the damage on his home. “Nothin’ Dumbledore won’ be able to put righ’...”

Draco looked back at Harry, his heart sinking as Harry seemed to grow even paler at the mention of Dumbledore’s name, confirming Draco’s suspicion. He couldn’t help but reach out for Harry’s hand, enfolding it gently in his. 

“Harry?” he breathed.

“Hagrid,” he brought out finally. “He…” He gulped, and Hagrid was now looking at him instead of the still smouldering building.

“What happened, Harry?” he asked. “I jus’ saw them Death Eaters runnin’ down from the castle, but what the ruddy hell was Snape doin’ with ‘em? Where’s he gone - was he chasin’ ‘em?”

“He…” Harry cleared his throat, and Draco’s insides clenched. That Harry had such trouble bringing out the words could only mean the worst. “Hagrid, he killed…”

“Killed?” Hagrid called, eyes widening. “Snape killed? What’re yeh on abou’, Harry?”

But Draco already knew before Harry opened his mouth. He could only stare in horror as Harry filled in the missing piece.

“Dumbledore,” Harry ground out, sounding lost. “Snape killed… Dumbledore.”

Silence fell upon them. Both Hagrid and Draco stared at Harry, though where Draco was horrified, Hagrid was uncomprehending. 

“Dumbledore wha’, Harry?” he asked, finally. 

“He’s dead,” Harry repeated, voice cracking. “Snape killed him…”

“Don’t say that,” Hagrid shook his head, his voice rough. “Snape kill Dumbledore - don’t be stupid, Harry. what’s made yeh say that?”

“I saw it happen.” 

Draco flinched at that, looking away, back at the castle, only to twitch when he saw the Dark Mark hovering over the Astronomy tower.  _ Bloody Hell.  _ When had  _ that _ happened? 

“Yeh couldn’ have,” Hagrid still argued.

“I saw it happen.”

“What musta happened -”

“Hagrid!” Draco interrupted him sharply, catching his eyes and nodding to the Dark Mark. 

“What?” Hagrid frowned, but then his eyes widened, and he was moving without another word, making his way up to the school. Draco looked at Harry, hesitating. He took a shaky breath before following Hagrid, though at a more moderate pace. 

Hagrid was moving straight for the open entrance door, probably intending to go straight for the Astronomy Tower, but Harry pulled Draco off path, leading him into the grass and to the foot of the tower. It was only then that Draco realised that a body lay there on the ground. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Harry! Draco!” Hagrid called. “Where’re yeh goin’?”

Harry did not stop, though, and finally, they reached the crumbled, broken shell of what had once been their Headmaster. Harry let go of Draco’s hand and crouched down beside him, and Draco stared in horror as he straightened the old man’s crooked glasses with trembling fingers, wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth with his sleeve. It was Harry’s way of showing his last respect, Draco knew, but he felt frozen, his mind wheeling with the terror of the realisation that Dumbledore was really  _ dead. _

What were they going to  _ do? _

Hagrid had reached them, and he let out a moan of pain and shock next to Draco. Meanwhile, Harry picked something up from the ground - a locket, Draco thought - and observed it with a blank look on his face, turning it over and over before opening it and drawing a folded piece of paper from it. As he read it, his face crumbled, his eyes flooding with tears, and Draco fell to his knees next to him, pulling him into his arms. 

He did not get to read the note before Harry crumbled it in his fist, but it didn’t matter, not right now, not when Harry turned his face into his neck with a sob and cried. 

Ginny and Ryan were the ones who eventually came to pick them up. It still needed a lot of coaxing from Draco for Harry to leave Dumbledore’s side, and even then, he had to keep his arm firmly wrapped around him and lead him away. 

Ginny’s own hand was holding tightly onto Ryan’s, the only tell that she, too, needed some form of support, but she was bravely pushing on, leading the way to the infirmary as she filled them in on the news. 

“Everyone’s gathered at the hospital wing,” she explained. “It’s McGonagall’s orders.”

“Ginny,” Harry muttered, his voice breaking, “who else is dead?”

“Don’t worry, none of us,” she told him quickly.

“But the Dark Mark… there was a body…”

“That was probably Bill, but it’s all right, he’s alive.”

And Draco, too, took a shaky breath at that, flashes of his run-in with Greyback coming back to him. 

“Will he be okay?” Draco asked. “He won’t be…?”

“We don’t really know what the after-effects will be,” Ginny muttered, and her voice was trembling a little now. Ryan squeezed her hand. “I mean, Greyback being a werewolf, but not transformed at the time…”

“Greyback?” Harry interrupted, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Draco nodded. “He almost got to me, too, but Lupin protected me.” Harry looked ready to faint at the mere thought, so Draco felt compelled to add: “That potion you gave us worked wonders, Harry. Everything seemed to just miss us, and I took out a remarkable number of people myself. Not to mention that whenever I didn’t, people just seemed to appear out of nowhere to do it for me.”

“Yeah,” Ryan snorted. “You’re welcome.”

Draco sent him a weak smile, and Ryan grinned back, though it looked a little tired, too. 

“But there were others…” Harry muttered, looking at Ginny again. “There were other bodies on the ground…”

“Neville, Abbas and Yatin are at the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey said they’d all make a full recovery. Two Death Eaters are dead. One got killed by a killing curse the huge blond one was firing off everywhere, and the other was hit by a brick in the head when a curse made the wall explode. We have a couple more Death Eaters unconscious, so we can hand them over to the Ministry later. But our side came off remarkably well. I think it’s because the odds were in our favour?”

“We had the Death Eaters outnumbered one to three in most fights,” Ryan snickered. “Even if two of the three were still students, that counts for something.”

They had reached the hospital wing, and Ginny was pushing the doors open for them to enter. Draco had never seen the infirmary this full, and he was stunned that Madam Pomfrey had allowed it. 

The beds near the door were occupied. On the right side Abbas and Yatin were sitting propped up, both awake, on the left side Neville was sleeping. Most students were gathered around them, having pulled up chairs to huddle together, holding whispered conversations. The only exception were Hermione and Weasley, who were standing with Dora and Lupin at the far end of the ward around a bed that apparently held Bill. 

They all looked up when the four of them entered. Hermione broke away to run towards them, pulling both Harry and Draco into a tight hug. Lupin approached them, too, his face anxious.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking from Harry to Draco.

“We’re fine,” Harry nodded. “How’s Bill?” 

Nobody answered. Draco bit his lip and chanced a look at the bed, his stomach turning when he saw that his face had been so badly mangled that it seemed unrecognisable. Madam Pomfrey was dabbing some foul-smelling green ointment onto his wounds, her face serious. 

“Can’t you fix them with a spell or something?” Harry asked anxiously.

“No charm will work on these,” Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “I’ve tried everything I know, but there is no cure for werewolf bites.”

“But he wasn’t bitten at the full moon,” Weasley noted, his voice hopeful. “Greyback hadn’t transformed, so surely Bill won’t be a - a real - ?” 

He looked at Lupin for confirmation, who sighed deeply. 

“No, I don’t think Bill will be a true werewolf,” he agreed, “but that does not mean there won’t be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely to ever heal fully, and - and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on.”

“Dumbledore might know something that’d work, though,” Weasley said, and Draco flinched. “Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore’s orders, Dumbledore owes him he can’t leave him in this state -”

“Ron - Dumbledore’s dead,” Ginny said, efficiently interrupting her brother’s rant, much to Draco’s relief.

“No!” Lupin called, shocking Draco with the intensity of his reaction. He looked wildly from Ginny to Harry to Draco, as if hoping  _ someone _ might contradict the statement, but when only silence followed, he collapsed onto the chair next to Bill’s bed, burying his face in his hands. It made Draco feel even more helpless, watching Lupin lose composure like that. 

“How did he die?” Dora finally broke the silence, catching Harry’s eyes. “How did it happen?”

“Snape killed him,” Harry said, his voice brittle. “I was there, I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower because that’s where the Mark was… Dumbledore was ill, he was weak, but I think he realised it was a trap when we arrived. He immobilised me, I couldn’t do anything. I was under the Invisibility Cloak - and then Nott disarmed him -” 

Hermione looked completely anguished. Weasley groaned. Ryan cursed. Everyone else listened in complete silence. 

“- and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra.” Harry’s lips trembled as he fell silent, apparently unable to go on. Draco pulled him closer against himself, and Harry accepted the comfort greedily. 

In a corner, Madam Pomfrey burst into tears, and Ginny tried to shush her. Through the windows, bits and pieces of a phoenix song reached their ears - Fawkes seemed to be lamenting his owner’s death.

The door opened, and McGonagall entered the ward. She looked shaken up and as if she was holding herself together by strings. 

“Molly and Arthur are on their way,” she announced. She then turned to Harry, asking him for details on Dumbledore’s death, and Draco stroked Harry’s back as he was forced to recount again how Snape had killed Dumbledore, giving McGonagall such a shock that she swayed on her feet. 

“Snape…” she muttered. “We always wondered… but he trusted… always…  _ Snape…  _ I can’t believe it…”

“Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens,” Lupin reminded them, his voice hard. “We always knew that.”

“But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” Dora whispered, despaired. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t…”

“He did,” Harry muttered, making everyone turn to him, including Draco. Harry’s lips were drawn into a tight, angry line now, and he wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. “Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn’t realised what he was doing, he was really sorry he’d done it, sorry that they were dead.”

“And Dumbledore believed that?” Lupin demanded, incredulous. “Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape  _ hated _ James…”

“And he didn’t think my mother was worth a damn, either,” Harry muttered, “because she was Muggle-born… “Mudblood”, he called her…”

Draco felt out of the loop. How did Harry know all of these things? When had he found out? Why had he never told Draco about them? But now was not the time to ask. Not in front of everyone, and not while everyone was still busy discussing Snape’s betrayal.

“We should never have notified him,” McGonagall muttered. “If we hadn’t called him to join the fight, he wouldn’t have -”

“He’s Head of House and an Order member, Minerva,” Dora reasoned. “You couldn’t have  _ not _ called him.”

“So, when the fight broke out, did he immediately join the Death Eaters?” Harry asked, looking at Draco. 

“We think so,” Draco shrugged, and proceeded to fill Harry in on everything that he had missed from their side, with the occasional help from some of the others. They caught Harry up just in time for Mr and Mrs Weasley’s arrival.

They stormed in, Fleur in tow, making everyone immediately fall silent. Lupin and Dora hastily stepped away from the bed to give the family space as McGonagall spoke to Mr Weasley about the likely after-effects of the injury, and Lupin quickly joined the conversation. Mrs Weasley placed herself on the chair next to the bed, teary-eyed, while Fleur stood at the foot of the bed, looking very pale. 

Draco felt deeply uncomfortable, watching the private family moment, and he looked over his shoulder at where his Slytherin friends and Luna were still huddled together near Abbas and Yatin’s beds, again in whispered conversation. He wondered if it would be rude to stroll over and join them when an angry exclamation from Fleur made him freeze up.

“And what do you mean by zat?” Draco blinked and whipped his head around again to see that Fleur had regained some of the colour in her face. She also wore an expression of indignity as she glared at Mrs Weasley. “What do you mean, ‘e was  _ going _ to be married?”

Mrs Weasley looked utterly startled, and Draco couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think the Weasley matriarch was often challenged like that.

“Well - only that -”

“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me any more?” Fleur pressed. “You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?” 

“No, that’s not what I -”

“Because ‘e will!” she snapped, staring down at her future mother-in-law harshly. “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”

“Well, yes, I’m sure,” Mrs Weasley muttered, obviously flabbergasted, “but I thought perhaps - given how - how he -”

“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you ‘oped?” she spat. “What do I care how ‘e looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!” she concluded, snatching the ointment Mrs Weasley had picked up out of her hands and taking her place in dabbing Bill’s wounds.

The room was dead silent for a moment. Then, very tentatively, Mrs Weasley spoke up.

“Our Great Aunt Muriel has a beautiful tiara - goblin-made - which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with her hair.”

Draco chanced a look at Ginny, who looked like she had bitten into a pus-flavoured Bertie Bott’s. 

“Thank you,” Fleur said, rather stiffly. “I am sure zat will be lovely.”

And in the next moment, the two women were lying in each others arms, crying to their heart's’ content, and Draco shook his head in wonder. 

“Are you sure you want to marry into that family?” he muttered to Ryan, who elbowed him.

“We’ve been dating for a couple of weeks,” he hissed. “Stop sending out wedding invites, Merlin.”

He opened his mouth to return something, but the sudden sound of Dora’s raised voice had him come up short.

“You see!” she called, her eyes fixed on Lupin. “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!”

“Oh,” Draco muttered. “So, we’re doing  _ that _ now. Okay.”

“It’s different,” Lupin said. He had tensed up noticeably and was avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely -”

“But I don’t care either, I don’t care!” Tonks called, and she grabbed Lupin by the front of his robes to shake him. “I’ve told you a million times…”

“And I’ve told  _ you _ a million times that I am too old for you, too poor… too dangerous…”

“I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,” Mrs Weasley told him with a small smile. 

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Lupin snapped. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”

“But she wants you,” Mr Weasley shrugged. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.” He waved towards the bed where his son was currently resting in, a sad look on his face. 

“Point taken,” Dora nodded, glaring at Lupin. “Besides, if Draco can date Harry, who, let’s be real, has the biggest hit sign out of all of us on his back, then I can very well date you!”

“How did I know we’d get dragged into this eventually?” Draco muttered, looking at Harry, but the other one didn’t smile. He was still rather pale as he watched the scene before him.

“This is… not the moment to discuss it,” Lupin sighed, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Dumbledore is dead…”

“Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” McGonagall told them decisively, as if that closed the subject. And it did, in a way, because at that moment, Hagrid walked in, announcing that he had moved Dumbledore’s body and that the Ministry’s been informed, and it set everyone in motion. She asked all students but the Weasleys to return to their dormitories (the lockdown had been lifted), but she filtered out Harry to lead him to Dumbledore’s old office, claiming to want to talk to him in private before the Ministry arrived.

So Draco, naturally, did not return to Slytherin with his housemates. Instead, he waited in front of the gargoyles until Harry appeared. Harry looked drained and exhausted, but much to Draco’s relief, he immediately wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and buried his face in his throat, taking a deep breath.

They stood like that for a long moment, just embracing.

“What did McGonagall want?” Draco asked.

“To know what Dumbledore and I were doing tonight, and what mission he gave me,” he muttered, without pulling away.

“Did you tell her?” he checked.

“No,” Harry said simply. Draco nodded, not surprised. “They were talking about closing the school.”

“Well, shit,” Draco sighed, closing his eyes. 

“They might let us stay until the funeral, but they’ll send us home immediately after.”

“I guess it makes sense,” Draco said, slowly. “After all, many parents will have lost their trust in Hogwarts as an institution, without Dumbledore around.”

Harry didn’t answer, and he just continued holding Draco. Draco pressed his lips against his forehead.

“Will you come back to Gryffindor with me tonight?” Harry asked, softly. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded, relieved that Harry had asked. 

They made their way up to the Gryffindor tower, fingers entwined. The Fat Lady did not question the fact that he was bringing a Slytherin student into the common room. Instead, she asked: “Is it true? Dumbledore - dead?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

She let out a wail and swung open to admit them. In the common room, Hermione and Weasley were sitting by the fire, apparently waiting for them. Draco and Harry sat with them wordlessly. 

“They’re talking about closing the school,” Harry told them.

“Lupin said they would,” Weasley nodded. 

There was a pause, before Hermione asked, very tentatively: “Harry - before you returned, did you and Dumbledore…?”

Harry shook his head, his face twisting into a pained grimace. 

“You didn’t get it?” Weasley asked, looking crestfallen. “It wasn’t there?”

“No,” Harry muttered. “Someone had already taken it and left a fake in its place.”

“Somebody was already there?” Draco blinked, stunned. “But  _ who _ ? That would mean someone else is after the Horcruxes.”

Rather than responding with words, Harry pulled the locket he had picked up from the ground next to Dumbledore’s corpse earlier out of his pocket and gave it to Draco. Like Harry had done, he opened it to reveal the slightly crumpled note, unfolding it and reading. Next to him, he could feel Hermione and Weasley sidle up to read over his shoulder.

_ To the Dark Lord _

_ I know I will be dead long before you read this _

_ but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret.  _

_ I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. _

_ I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, _

_ you will be mortal once more. _

_ R.A.B. _

“R.A.B.,” Weasley whispered, “but who was that?”

“And did they manage to destroy it?” Draco asked. “If not, where is the real Horcrux?”

“I can look for the initials tomorrow at the library,” Hermione offered. “See if I come up with anything.”

“The question is if we need to look amongst possible Death Eaters or amongst people who stood up to him,” he frowned. “Because that person… the way he or she writes… doesn’t it seem kind of…”

“Affectionate?” Hermione offered. “Yes, it does.”

“Better check Death Eater records first, then,” Draco nodded. He looked up at Harry, at the way he had sunken back into the armchair, and folded the note up again, placing it back in the locket. “Let’s get to bed,” he decided. “We all need rest.”

The others agreed easily, and they bid their goodnights, Weasley, Harry and Draco making their way up to the sixth years’ boys dormitory. Finnigan and Thomas were still sound asleep, and Longbottom’s bed was empty. Weasley quietly slipped into the bed near the door and Harry led him to the bed on Weasley’s right, near the window. Draco followed Harry’s lead, shucking his robes, shirt, trousers and socks, and only climbing into bed after Harry in his pants, since he hadn’t brought his pyjamas. Harry didn’t reach for his, either, though, apparently craving the skin-to-skin contact, and Draco was glad to give it to him. He sprawled out on his back and pulled Harry to his chest, allowing the other boy to rest half on top of him and use him as his personal body pillow. 

Harry was asleep almost as soon as his head fell to his shoulder, his whole body relaxing. Draco marvelled for a while longer at the comfort of Harry’s body draped over his before slowly drifting away, too, focusing on Harry’s even breath and trying to think of nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Once again, a lot of dialogue is taken from the canon works. 
> 
> I know huge parts of this are, once more, more or less unchanged. Again, it's out of necessity and fully intended. I hope you understand.


	15. A New Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! So, we made it towards the end of part 6! I hope you'll enjoy the last chapter, and that you enjoyed reading this installment as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was probably my favourite to write because of the budding romance between Draco and Harry. The next installment, I'm afraid, will be a lot darker - lots of issues will pop up that have been hinted at in previous installments, and there will be some triggers, so be sure to read the tags carefully before you start reading. 
> 
> I want to thank all my faithful readers who have accompanied me all the way up until now. It means more to me than I can say. The readership on this story has grown larger than I could have ever imagined and it still blows my mind.
> 
> I still feel the need to address something, on the danger of sounding whingy. So please bare with the rather lengthy ted talk that will follow in the End Notes. Thank you in advance!
> 
> I hope to see you for part 7!

The days leading up to Dumbledore’s funeral were, perversely, some of the most peaceful ones Draco had ever spent at Hogwarts. For one, classes and exams were cancelled. Some students were taken home immediately by their parents - amongst them the Patil twins and Smith - but many elected to stay - amongst them Finnigan, who even went as far as getting into a shouting match with his mother to secure his remaining at the school (she only agreed once she had found an accommodation at Hogsmeade, a task that seemed impossibly difficult now that wizards from all over the world were streaming into the village for the funeral).

Draco spent most of his time surrounded by his friends, and he was a little amazed to realise what a tight-knotted group they had now become: Ginny, Ryan, Luna and Yurika would just casually join them out on the grounds, and eventually, they’d be sitting in a big group, all of them gathered, from Longbottom to Viola and Yatin, Zoe and Carina to Abbas and Demelza Robins and couple of Hufflepuffs he had not even met before but somehow seemed to be connected to Demelza and Abbas. 

Draco, especially curious when that last pairing had come to be, asked them once whether they were dating, only to be met with an incredulous stare by Abbas and hysterical giggles by Demelza. 

“Merlin, no,” she wheezed, glancing at Abbas in mirth. “Even if we had any chemistry at all, Abbas is hopelessly smitten with Killian.”

“Am not!” Abbas argued, though the way he flushed brightly gave it away as a lie. 

“Killian?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that the dark-haired Hufflepuff you keep bringing over?”

Demelza opened her mouth to respond, but Abbas clasped a hand over her mouth, keeping her from responding.

“I don’t fancy him!” he hissed, eyes wide. “Don’t listen to her!”

Draco carefully scanned his face, something painful pulling at his chest, and he frowned.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with it if you do,” Draco shrugged, making Abbas tense. “It’s not like we can help our feelings. And he seems like a nice enough bloke. Plus, mate, we’re heading straight for a war. It’s better to get real about your feelings than live with regrets.” 

Abbas just stared at him, unable to answer, and Draco gave him a sheepish shrug before retreating, leaving the two of them to it.

He found Harry, Hermione and Weasley sitting at the lakeside, for once just the three of them, and he dropped a kiss on the top of Harry’s head as he joined them.

“Hey,” Harry said, glancing over at him. “Where were you?”

“Playing Slytherin figurehead,” he grinned. When Harry only frowned at that, he added: “Nothing dangerous, I swear. I just played Ginny to Abbas’ Harry.”

“...Oh,” Harry muttered, blinking as his meaning sank in, and he snorted. “That must have come across well.”

“To be fair, I was nice about it,” Draco shrugged. “Much nicer than a certain redhead we both know…” 

He caught Harry’s eyes, and was a little thrown by the intensity with which Harry was watching him. That happened a lot, lately, Draco had noticed - he would catch Harry watching him, that faraway look in his eyes, like something was haunting him. It had been there since the night Dumbledore died and Draco wondered if he had put it there, when he had thrown himself between Harry and Snape’s wand. It was not the first time something like that had happened, though. It couldn’t have been such a shock to him, right? 

And then, Harry leaned in to kiss him, fingers tangling in his hair to hold his head in place and his lips moving against Draco’s ever so tenderly. He kissed him like Draco was going to disappear any moment. It was disconcerting. 

When Harry pulled away, he lingered in Draco’s personal space, guiding Draco’s head so their foreheads rested against each others’. He did not speak; he just gently ran his hands through Draco’s hair and breathed him in. 

“Everything okay?” Draco breathed, reluctant to break the silence but still needing to ask. 

Harry just nodded, but he didn’t open his eyes, and Draco knew he was lying. 

As the days passed, more Ministry officials arrived at Hogwarts for the funeral. They avoided them best as they could, wary of everything to do with the Ministry by now. 

Instead, they paid a lot of visits to the hospital wing. Bill was still there, under Madam Pomfrey’s care, his wounds slowly healing, though he had been incredibly lucky - his only wolfish symptoms seemed to be his new liking for raw meat. Other than that, he was in good spirits, and Fleur seemed remarkably more at ease once Mrs Weasley was nowhere in sight.

Madam Maxime arrived shortly before the funeral, too, in the same carriage she had used in fourth year. They saw her throw herself tearfully at Hagrid upon her arrival. 

The strangest thing, though, about their time left at Hogwarts, was Nott’s empty bed in the sixth years’ Slytherin dormitory. Draco looked over at it every night with a heavy feeling in his chest, wondering where Nott was now, what the Dark Lord was making him do. 

_It’s my fault._ He tried not to think it, but he could not shake the feeling off completely. Theodore Nott was under the Dark Lord’s control because Draco had escaped it, and that little knot of guilt would always be there. 

They were set to leave with the Hogwarts Express an hour after the funeral. Hagrid was absent from the staff table at breakfast that morning, leaving two seats to be filled by Ministry officials (since Snape, naturally, was still missing), who turned out to be none other than Scrimgeour himself, and to Weasley’s displeasure, Percy Weasley.

Dumbledore’s chair remained empty, as a gesture of respect.

They were supposed to follow their Heads of Houses out to the grounds, but at this point, no one bothered to listen and they grouped themselves wherever they wanted: He saw Demelza and Abbas with the Hufflepuffs, Yurika with the Ravenclaws, Ginny with the Slytherins, while he followed Professor McGonagall down with the Gryffindors. And none of the teachers bothered to say anything. He thought they silently approved, because _Dumbledore_ would have been pleased. 

They were led towards the lake, where chairs had been placed around a marble table at the front. Draco took a seat between Harry and Longbottom. Hermione and Weasley sat on Harry’s other side. 

As the seats slowly filled, Draco watched the people that arrived, recognising Order Members as well as famous members of the Wizarding Society, Ministry officials, and random people he had met here and there or that he couldn’t even place. Dumbledore had touched the lives of many people, Draco knew. It made sense that his funeral was to be a mass event. 

He spotted Dora and Lupin a few rows down, holding hands. It warmed his heart a little. He was glad to see that they had worked out their differences, at last. Both were dear to him, and they deserved happiness.

The Weasleys, apart from Ginny and Weasley himself, stuck together, Fleur supporting Bill on his way into his seat, Mr and Mrs Weasley by their side, followed by Fred and George, who seemed to be wearing black dragonskin jackets. 

Draco glanced at Harry, only to see his eyes fixed on the figures of Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge, his jaw clenched, green eyes blazing in fury. Draco reached out to take his hand, enlacing their fingers. Harry took a steadying breath, squeezing his fingers. It made the scars on the back of his hand stand out, and made the matching ones on the back of Draco’s own tingle. 

Draco’s eyes travelled out over the lake, and with some astonishment, he saw the merpeople swimming just inches below the surface, and now that he concentrated, he could hear music reaching his ears across the murmur of voices - a melody of despair, or loss. 

A hush went through the crowd, and Draco’s head turned to find Hagrid carrying Dumbledore’s body down the aisle towards the marble table. Draco squeezed Harry’s hand to gently direct his attention to where it needed to go, his own eyes lingering on the tears rolling down Hagrid’s face. 

Dumbledore’s body was wrapped in purple velvet interlaced with golden stars. Draco knew it was Dumbledore inside, but his mind didn’t seem to quite make the connection, instead going numb. He could hear Hermione crying a few seats down, along with other people, but somehow, the feeling of grief wouldn’t take hold of him.

What did that say about him?

Once Hagrid had reached the front, he placed the body on the table and retreated. He passed them again to take a seat far in the back, and with some surprise, Draco realised that he sat with a well-behaved, silent Grawp. When Hagrid took his seat, Grawp patted his head, and making Hagrid’s chair legs sink into the ground. 

When had that happened? Why hadn’t he bothered to ask Hagrid about Grawp throughout the year? Hagrid was his friend, and Grawp was his family. He should have _asked,_ at least. 

Someone had gotten up to hold a speech. Draco thought he distantly recognised the man from some of his parents’ social gatherings when he was younger, but he could not recall his name. He could not be bothered to, either, and he could not bring himself to listen. Instead, he shut the world out, and reflected what Dumbledore’s death made him feel.

The emotion came crashing down on him as soon as he closed his eyes and stopped looking at the scene in front of him - _fear._ He was _terrified_ of the future ahead. He was not sure if he had always trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, but there was no doubt that he had considered Dumbledore as a source of safety for himself, Harry, his family, and all his other friends. Now, they were on their own. Sure, the Order was still intact, and they would still help each other, but how effective would it be without Dumbledore at the top? Dumbledore _had_ been the mastermind of the operation.

And there were still the Horcruxes, all of which they now had to hunt down on their own, and find a way to destroy, too. How were they going to do that without Dumbledore’s guidance?

There was a soft noise from his side and Draco opened his eyes to find tears running down Harry’s face. It hurt him deep in his soul to see it, the look of despair and loss on his boyfriend’s face. How was it that, again and again, Harry had to lose people he treasured, and try as he might, Draco could do nothing to stop it?

The speech had ended and the man had stepped away, but Draco’s eyes were still on Harry’s face. Then, people screamed, and he finally turned back to watch what was happening at the front. The table had suddenly been engulfed in bright, white flames that rose high enough to hide the body from their view, and then, it vanished again, a marble tomb remaining on the table, encasing Dumbledore’s body.

There was a shower of arrows that fell short of the crowd. Draco turned to see the Centaurs, who had lingered just at the edge of the forest, retreat. The merpeople, too, sank slowly back into the waters and were lost from view. 

Draco turned back to face Harry, only to find the other boy’s eyes already on his. He had that strange, haunted look on his face again, and Draco knew before he opened his mouth that Harry was going to say something incredibly stupid, and that he was not going to let him get away with it.

“Draco, listen…” Harry muttered, gulping. “I can’t… We have to stop. I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

Draco’s heart stopped for a moment. Then he shook himself out of it, and he shook his head decisively, his face hard. 

“No,” he said simply. “You don’t get to do this.”

Harry’s expression was pained as he stared back at him. “You have to understand,” he whispered. “The last thing I want is to lose you. You have been the best thing in my life. But that’s exactly why I can’t do this anymore.”

“If this is because of what I did in front of Snape -” Draco began.

“Yes and no,” Harry shook his head. “You will _always_ be in danger around me, Draco. He’s used you as a bait to get to me before, and he will do it again. He would hurt you just to hurt me. And the one thing I couldn’t stand is to lose you.”

“That is terribly heroic of you,” Draco snapped, unable to help himself, “but have you ever considered that I might be in even bigger danger if you just _leave me behind?!”_

Harry gaped at him, satisfyingly stomped. “I don’t -” he muttered.

“I gave up everything for you,” Draco reminded him. “I turned my back on my father - my _mother_ turned her back on my father - leaving a target almost as big on our heads as on yours. So even if you break up with me now, they’ll always be out for my blood. So tell me,” Draco challenged, jaw set, “how would you feel, if they got to me and murdered me after you left me behind, doing your own thing, because you thought I would be safer on my own?”

With grim satisfaction, Draco realised that he’d gotten his point across - Harry looked thunderstruck, and despaired. 

“But…” he whispered, and his eyes were filling with tears again. “But what if you get killed _because of me?_ I couldn’t live with myself if -”

“Harry,” Draco interrupted him, voice gentling again as he reached out to touch his cheek. “This is a war. People will always die. But I _choose_ to be at your side, fully aware of what the consequences might be. And if that ends in my death, I’m sorry, but I’ll take it over staying away from you. Because for me, _that_ would be the option I couldn’t live with - surviving in a world without you, knowing I could have stopped your death if I had just stuck with you.” A tear ran down Harry’s cheek, and he leaned in to kiss it away. “We’re a team,” he breathed. “We have been since first year, and we will be till the very end. So don’t you dare chuck me out now, not even for my own good. I don’t want it. I _refuse_ it. So save your breath and accept that you’re stuck with me, you moron.”

“You’re such a stubborn arse,” Harry muttered, his voice trembling. “You won’t even let me save you.”

“I don’t need saving,” Draco snorted. “I’m not a fucking damsel in distress, Potter. I just need you. Got it?”

Harry sighed, and Draco knew from the way the tension left his shoulders that he had won the fight. 

“Fine,” he breathed. “But if you die on me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Same,” Draco smiled, leaning in to catch Harry’s lips in a soft kiss. Harry clung to him, kissing him back desperately, and now, Draco finally understood why Harry had kissed him the way he had in the last couple of days: It had been his way of saying goodbye. 

_Idiot._ As if Draco would ever be through with him.

When Harry had calmed down enough to compose himself, he pulled away from Draco, wiping at his face. Draco caught a glimpse of Hermione and Weasley behind him - Hermione was sobbing into Weasley’s shoulder, and the ginger git was holding her tight, for once stepping up to the job. 

Draco was loath to interrupt their moment, so he reached out for Harry’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he muttered, leading him past Longbottom, down their row until they were out on the grass. From here, they strolled down back into the direction of the castle, the path that led towards Hagrid’s hut and the Quidditch pitch. They did not get far, though, before they were joined by someone rather unwelcome. 

“Harry!” Scrimgeour called out to them, making the two of them halt as the Minister caught up, heavily leaning onto his walking stick. “I’ve been hoping to have a word… Do you mind if I walk a little with you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry glared, but shrugged, his demeanor indicating indifference as he replied: “No,” before he started walking again, pointedly not letting go of Draco’s hand. 

Scrimgeour looked at Draco distastefully for a moment, but he bit his tongue. He seemed to be picking his battles carefully.

“Harry, this was a dreadful tragedy,” he began. “I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard. We had our disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I -”

“What do you want?” Harry interrupted him, his voice sharp. Draco had to suppress a smile. The Minister, on the other hand, looked less pleased, but he quickly schooled his features into compassion, trying once more: “You are, of course, devastated -”

“Minister,” Draco interrupted him, speaking for the first time. “Let me give you some advice on Harry. He’s not good at diplomacy, and it’s usually wasted on him. So you’d better stop the pretence and just say what you came here to say, because his patience has already run out.”

Scrimgeour glowered at him, but Draco just shrugged. Finally, Scrimgeour turned back to Harry, his mask completely fallen now. 

“The word is that you were with him when he left the school the night that he died,” he brought out, at last. 

“Whose word?” Harry asked.

“We found two broomsticks on top of the tower after Dumbledore died. The Ministry can add two and two, Harry.”

“Glad to hear it.” Draco looked away, biting down on a grin. Serious as the situation was, he loved Harry like this. “Well, where I went with Dumbledore and what we did is my business. He didn’t want people to know.”

“Such loyalty is admirable, of course,” Scrimgeour ground out, “but Dumbledore is gone, Harry. He’s gone.”

“He will only be gone from the school when none here are loyal to him,” Harry disagreed with a soft smile.

“My dear boy… even Dumbledore cannot return from the -”

“I’m not saying he can. You wouldn’t understand. But I’ve got nothing to tell you,” Harry shook his head, his tone final. 

Scrimgeour hesitated, and then he said, in a different tone: “The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to play a couple of my Aurors -”

“Don’t you dare,” Draco hissed, fury running through him, so overwhelming that it threatened to consume him completely. “After what you said this winter… Don’t you _dare_ pretend like you care about Harry.”

“I don’t understand -” Scrimgeour started, but Draco was already staring him down.

“You don’t care about Harry’s fate,” he snapped. “You just need him to serve a purpose. What makes you think, for one moment, that we’d ever trust you of all people with his well-being? He’s a person, and he has people who love him. People who care whether he makes it out alive or not. And we’ll take care of it ourselves. So thanks, but no thanks. Stay away from him.”

He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, but he could not look at him, not right now. His gaze was locked on Scrimgeour’s, whose expression was hard. 

“So I take it,” he asked, turning to Harry, “that the request I made at Christmas -”

“What request? Oh, yeah... “ Harry rolled his eyes. “The one where I tell the world what a great job you are doing in exchange for -”

“- for raising everyone’s morale!” Scrimgeour snapped, less composed by the second.

Harry scoffed. “Released Stan Shunpike yet?” Draco snorted when the Minister just turned an interesting shade of purple, but refrained from answering. 

“I see you are -”

“Dumbledore’s man through and through,” Harry filled in, rather proudly. “That’s right.”

And that was that. Scrimgeour glared at both of them for another moment before taking off, much to Draco’s relief. It did not take long, though, for Hermione and Weasley to appear in his stead, asking what he’d wanted. Draco left it to Harry to explain, instead taking deep, calming breaths to soothe his own temper. 

He was startled into a laugh when Weasley pleaded with Hermione: “Look, let me go back and hit Percy!”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, grabbing his arm to keep him in place. 

“It’ll make me feel better!”

“We could probably hit him with a hex from here,” Draco snorted. “He’d never know.”

“Not as satisfying,” Weasley sighed longingly, and Draco shrugged because, well.

Silence fell upon them, and they strolled a little farther down the path, away from the crowds. 

“I can’t bear the idea that we might never come back,” Hermione muttered, her eyes fixed on the castle. “How can Hogwarts close?”

“Maybe it won’t,” Weasley said. “We’re not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere’s the same now. I’d even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d’you reckon, Harry?”

“I’m not coming back even if it does reopen,” Harry said, absolutely not to Draco’s surprise. Weasley, though, must have been clueless, because he was gaping at Harry in shock. Hermione, on the other hand, looked sad but resigned.

“I knew you were going to say that," she sighed. "But then what will you do?”

“I’m going back to the Dursley’s once more, because that’s what Dumbledore wanted me to do,” Harry said. “But it’ll be a short visit, and then I’ll be off for good.”

“But where will you go if you don’t come back to school?”

“I thought I might go back to Godric’s Hollow,” Harry muttered, glancing at Draco, meeting his eyes hesitantly. Draco squeezed his hand, signalling his silent support for whatever he wanted to do. “For me, it started there, all of it. I’ve just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can visit my parents’ graves, I’d like that.”

“And then what?” Weasley asked.

“And then I’ve got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven’t I?” Harry sighed. “That’s what Dumbledore wanted me to do, that’s why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right - and I’m sure he was - there are still four of them out there. Draco and I will track them down and destroy them, and then I’ve got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort’s soul, the bit that’s still in his body, and I’m the one who’s going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way,” he added, rather grimly, “so much the better for me, so much the worse for him.”

A long silence followed his words, in which Hermione caught Draco’s eyes. They communicated silently before she looked at Weasley, having another telepathic conversation in front of an oblivious Harry. Draco knew what was coming before they opened their mouths.

“We’ll be there, Harry,” Weasley said.

“What?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

“At your aunt and uncle’s house, with Malfoy,” Weasley shrugged. “And then we’ll go with you, wherever you’re going.”

“No -” Harry shook his head, about to fight them like he had fought Draco, but Hermione cut him off, smart girl that she was.

“You told us once before,” she reminded him, “that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?”

“We’re with you whatever happens,” Weasley emphasised. “But, mate, you’re going to have to come round my mum and dad’s house before we do anything else, even Godric’s Hollow.”

“Why?” Harry asked, stomped.

“Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember?”

Draco laughed, startled. “Right,” he muttered. “Can’t miss that, or we’ll be made into Bouillabaisse.” 

Harry blinked but nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We shouldn’t miss that.”

And that was that. They were going to go on a quest to save the world in a couple of weeks. But first, a wedding, because, priorities. 

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand and they continued their way up to the castle, maybe for the last time.

**End Notes:**

I haven't made it a secret that I'm suffering from depression. I'm not currently being treated since I'm on a waiting list for therapy, which means I am fending for myself. That doesn't make my situation very easy. Writing usually helps - for one, I can escape my life a little, and also, you've all been so lovely to me that it has helped me build some of the confidence that I'm lacking in everyday life.  
  
But lately, detailed negative comments have been increasing, and it's been worsening my mental condition. The numbers are still relatively small and I probably have no right to complain, looking at the ratio, but there have been 2-3 long, negative comments per month lately and it's been really affecting me, especially when I'm already feeling low. I notice that I'm getting more wary of opening comments, and I'm checking over them first to see whether they're positive or negative before I read in detail - and when it *is* negative, it follows me through my day. Not to mention that I get more and more nervous before posting chapters that I know people might be upset about, and I tend to want to apologise about what I write - which, really, I shouldn't have to do.  
  
I know that the intensity of my reaction is down to my condition, which, of course, is on me, but I implore you all to please remember that fanfiction authors are people and not a service. We're not getting paid for writing, we're doing this for fun, escape, self-fulfilment - pick your motivation. And we share our stories because we want to share that feeling with others - positive emotions, not negative ones. If readers come around to tear your story down, it can be incredibly demotivating. You, as readers, want authors to keep being creative. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Don't leave demotivating comments. I have had so many people commending me on still writing this story and simultaneously complaining about other authors having dropped theirs - but if this is how the authors get treated, it is not really a surprise that they'd eventually drop their ongoing projects.   
  
That doesn't mean, of course, that you can't leave criticism, if said criticism is constructive. But how to tell if it is constructive? Ask yourself the following questions:  
  
A) You want to drop a story because it's not to your taste? Perfectly acceptable. Not everyone has to like everything, and the authors know this. But do you have to give them a list of reasons as to *why* you, personally, did not enjoy their story? Is that constructive? Will that achieve anything but make them feel bad about what they have written? No. Most likely, the author will never realise that you have dropped the story in the first place. Unless they ask you directly, I think it's better to just stop reading and say nothing at all.  
  
B) Does your criticism actually concern anything that the author might be willing to change within the story, aka flaws in logic or plot, typos, etc etc? Then yes, it is constructive.  
  
C) Might your criticism be a matter of taste? Is the thing you criticise something you alone don't enjoy, but others might? Then, no, it's not constructive to tell the author about it.  
  
D) Might the thing you are criticising still be explained in the ongoing story? If the story is not yet finished, the perceived plothole might still be explained as the story goes on. Things you might perceive as sloppy writing might actually be intended. Don't be quick to judge, don't throw plot decisions into an author's face if you don't yet understand the meaning behind it.  
  
E) Please, PLEASE, don't ever be condescending towards an author. Don't ever assume you know better how to write their story than they do. Authors don't throw dices about plot decisions. They are carefully thought out, and for you to swipe in and be all high and mighty and tell them how they could have done better is not very nice. If it's not to your taste, you are free to write your own story. This is what AO3 is for, after all. But don't tear down someone else's story uninvitedly because it doesn't live up to your personal standards.  
  
You might say, probably not unjustly, that if I can't take criticism, I shouldn't put my work out here. I am aware of that, and I'm working on handling myself better. This talk is an attempt both to sensibilise you to my situation as well to what, in my opinion, should be common manners and respect towards fanfiction writers. It might be one step too far to say you need to wrap fanfiction writers into cotton, but... is it really necessary to throw unwarranted criticism left and right in an environment that's supposed to be positive, where no one is a professional and everyone is writing as a hobby? If we want direct criticism, we'll most likely ask someone. At least, that's my experience. Most writers who want to work with a beta have one or are reaching out to people.  
  
This might be a cliché Puff thing to say, but: If you don't have anything nice to say, it might be better not to say anything at all.  
  
I will, for now, continue posting as usual, but let it be said that I'm not in a good mindset about this story at the moment. If the trend continues, I might need to take a step back from posting until I feel more stable. This story is very dear to me - I've spent what is now about three years writing it, and I poured more of myself into this than I had originally intended. The last thing I need is to feel bad about it. 

To everyone who read this far, thank you. I know this is a novel, and I know it doesn't concern 99% of my readers. Most of you are lovely. But if this reached at least 0,1% of the remaining 1%, I'll count it as a success. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Draco Malfoy and the Year When Everyone Suddenly Paid Attention to Him [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867942) by [Sandstripe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandstripe/pseuds/Sandstripe)




End file.
